


stand here survive another day

by marblecats (kitthefox)



Series: something new [3]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Bickering, Boys Being Boys, Car Sex, Early Days, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friendship, Idiots in Love, Lack of Communication, M/M, Nightmares, Outdoor Sex, POV Alternating, Panic Attacks, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:21:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28814085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitthefox/pseuds/marblecats
Summary: It's no longer something new, it's something real and tangible and a bit scary.Or, how two unruly boys fumble their way through a relationship.
Relationships: Richard Kruspe/Till Lindemann
Series: something new [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2098797
Comments: 70
Kudos: 56





	1. Nightmares and Lake Dreams

_I'm like you, a fool again  
Whenever I fell, I got up again_

_Babe you don't have to be afraid in my eyes  
Babe, don't be ashamed_

_And I'm so glad that you stayed._

_Babe - Emigrate_

_\---_

Scholle wakes with a start, the room is still dark and as he blinks sleepily to try and focus his eyes he sees that it's still dark outside as well. There's a sharp pain in his side like he's been kicked, he frowns and glances around in the darkness, one hand pressed to the sore spot. He feels a twitch of a limb against the back of his hand and a soft whimper breaks through the silence. A hand flails across his chest as the whimper gets louder and forms words. 

"No, no, _please!_." 

He's suddenly wide awake and on his knees, his hands pressed to either side of his bed partner's head. 

"Till!" He murmurs. "Wake up, you're dreaming." 

The whimpering quiets as Scholle presses his forehead to Till's, whispering soothing epithets into the darkness until those stormy eyes snap open. His hands grasp at Scholle's wrists, his chest heaves. 

Scholle doesn't move his hands from where they frame Till's wide-eyed face. "Are you alright?" He whispers, and presses a soft kiss to trembling lips. 

Till closes his eyes again and surges up just a little to return it as though seeking the comfort. Scholle strokes his cheeks with his thumbs as they kiss, he's distraught to find them wet under his touch. 

"Love." He breathes between kisses. "You're okay, I'm here." 

Till sniffles and heaves a shaking, shuddering breath, Scholle's heart breaks. His Till, his rock who always seems so strong, is too often shattered by these dreams that haunt him in the small hours. Scholle does his best to chase them away but sometimes the darkness is overwhelming. At least he now understands where the poetry comes from.

"Are you alright?" He repeats, a little firmer now, needing Till to respond to him. 

Till seeks out another kiss and nods just slightly. "I'm alright." He mumbles. "Just dreams." He props himself up on his elbows and Scholle moves to accommodate him, straddling his thighs. Till seems to change his mind then and sits himself up fully, wrapping his thick arms around Scholle and holding him close. He buries his face in the crook of Scholle's neck, while Scholle strokes his hair and his back. 

He's not trembling quite so much now, his heart rate is more reasonable. Scholle sighs and kisses his temple, he would do anything to take away this pain. "What was it this time?" He asks gently.

Till leans back and looks at him, his sad eyes reflecting moonlight through the window. "You didn't come back." He whispers, as his hands come to frame Scholle's face and tug him into a kiss. 

Scholle's stomach feels like lead, it's still an open wound that they haven't really talked about. His arrest, his time in jail, his subsequent departure and return, all of it. He hadn't wanted to leave him behind but Till's daughter was so small, Till couldn't possibly have dragged her through that. Scholle hadn't even said goodbye, he hadn't been able to bring himself to look Till in the eye and say it. He had simply left Till's house in the dead of night and gone, leaving everything he loved, and not knowing if they would ever be together again. 

By all accounts Till had been a wreck, devastated and bereft for the longest time, having no idea where Scholle was or what had happened to him. Scholle knows he pulled himself together for the sake of his daughter but he also knows it still haunts him, the nightmares are evidence of that. He brushes it off when asked about it in the daylight but at night he shivers and shakes and sheds tears Scholle does his best to wipe away. He doesn't deserve this devotion, this beautiful soul that waited for him, was waiting for him with open arms when he came back. He doesn't regret leaving, but he does regret leaving Till. 

"I'm okay." Scholle says as firmly and as gently as he can manage. "I'm here, you're here, we're okay." He doesn't know who he's trying to convince more, Till or himself. His own nightmares lurk in the corners of his mind, ever present, ever terrifying. The lead in his stomach rolls over, bringing anxiousness and dread. His breath is shaky when he exhales which Till notices immediately.

"We're okay." Till repeats, trailing featherlight kisses across Scholle's jaw and neck. 

Scholle curses himself, he was supposed to be making Till feel better and now suddenly he feels as though it's him on the edge of falling apart. Till's kisses drift across his shoulder where one becomes a bite, sharp and crooked teeth pressing into Scholle's skin. It's a suggestion, an invitation, the one sure fire way to chase both their demons away. He looks down at Till whose eyes are wide and pleading in the strip of moonlight coming from the window. Scholle's mouth quirks into a smile that he presses against Till's pouting lips. 

"What do you want?" He asks, threading his shaking hands into Till's already sweaty hair. He tugs his head back and bites at the underside of his jaw feeling Till's rumbling and desperate answer through his skin.

"Fuck me." He begs, Scholle bites his throat in response, leaves a mark that he won't be able to cover. Till moans sweetly and falls back onto the bed when Scholle pushes his chest, immediately reaching for Scholle to pull him close again. He's still a little open from earlier so Scholle can make short work of getting him ready. When he pushes into him it's like coming home all over again, Till's limbs immediately wrapping round him and keeping him as close as possible. 

It's difficult to move like that but he manages to rock his hips just enough as he mouths at any skin he can reach. He wants to kiss him properly so he props himself up on his forearms either side of Till's head and smashes their mouths together. It's wet and uncoordinated and Till can't quite stop the moans that escape him. It's the most electric kiss Scholle can remember, and quite suddenly he feels himself tensing and his orgasm crashes over him like a wave. His forehead is pressed to Till's and he can feel his moaning breaths against his mouth as he brings himself to completion with his hand. The way his body shudders around Scholle feels like too much, overstimulating and overwhelming but Scholle rides through it with him all the same.

"Fuck." Till breathes, stroking a shaking hand through Scholle's hair. His smile is less haunted, more spacey and Scholle himself can't quite remember what he was so afraid of not twenty minutes ago. All that matters is this, here and now, he thinks as he rolls to the side and snuggles up to Till's broad, sweaty chest. They fall to darkness wrapped up in each other, nightmares finally held at bay for the time being.

-

Till wakes slowly, his head hurts and he feels as though he hasn't slept at all. Nightmares always leave him feeling exhausted and useless, he sighs at the ceiling and reaches out a hand. He hits empty bed sheets and glances to the side, he's alone. The space is cool so Scholle must have been gone for a while. Till groans and fights the urge to panic, if he listens hard enough he can hear the sounds of Scholle clattering around the kitchen. He is still here, he hasn't gone anywhere. With another sigh, Till berates himself, he is foolish for these nightmares when it wasn't even him who suffered. He's plagued by intangible darkness and helplessness whilst Scholle is frightened by the very real things that happened to him. It's just that he can't quite shake the panic and fear of waking up and finding him gone, and having no way of knowing where he was. 

Till growls to himself when he realises that once again, he's crying. He angrily rubs at his eyes and goes to get out of bed when Scholle appears like a vision in Till's t-shirt and a pair of socks, clutching a breakfast tray in both hands.

"Morning, love." Scholle greets him softly, though his smile falters when his gaze lands on Till's wet eyes. 

"Morning, sunshine." Till responds, completely unable to stop the smitten smile that he just knows is spreading across his face. He rubs at his eyes again and answers Scholle's question before he can ask it. "I'm alright, just last night…" he trails off and gestures vaguely in the air, hoping that it's enough. "Is that breakfast?" He adds hopefully.

Scholle rolls his eyes at him though he hasn't quite lost all of the concern from his expression. "It's just coffee and whatever was left in the fridge, we're running a bit low on supplies." He pads over to the bed and puts the tray down right on top of the sheets before sitting himself down next to Till. He then tugs Till into a sideways one armed cuddle, and presses a firm kiss to his neck. 

"We'll find something." Till promises through his entirely new concern about food, whilst reaching for a coffee before it spills across the bed. Scholle immediately takes it for himself with a grin, Till huffs but lets him have it, he did make it after all. 

He takes the second cup and they sit in silence for a while, sipping coffee and picking at the toast and eggs Scholle has made. He's dumped it all on one plate for convenience, and it all feels so absurdly domestic Till's heart flutters and his stomach twists. Scholle coming home was everything he wanted and he's _happy_ but all he can think is that now Scholle has seen _more_ why would he want to be tied here to a basket weaver and occasional poet with a self esteem deficiency? 

"Till?" Scholle elbows him in the ribs. "Have you been listening to me?" 

Till sheepishly shakes his head, he had been too lost in his own thoughts.

"I thought not, you were away with the fairies." Scholle smirks, Till adopts his most suitably chastened expression and gives him an apologetic peck on the cheek which softens Scholle up considerably. He repeats himself.

"I said, do you want to go to the lake later? A swim might clear your head." 

Till tries not to perk up too visibly at that suggestion, but he knows he's been caught out when Scholle gives him the most adorably fond smile. He isn't entirely sure he deserves to be looked at like that, but it warms his bones regardless. He never wants anything bad to happen to Scholle ever again, he's not stupid, he knows he can't protect him from everything but he can damn well try. 

Setting down his now empty coffee cup, he turns to Scholle and wraps his arms around him, nuzzles into his neck. He smells like sweat and coffee grounds and the lingering musk of sex. Till's sure he doesn't exactly smell so sweet himself but there's no point dragging them both to the shower if they're going in the lake later. Scholle leans into him and drinks the last of his coffee, before putting the cup down on the tray. Till peppers kisses up the side of his neck, he's so sensitive there and he shivers delightfully in Till's arms. It gives Till an idea and he shifts one of his hands lower, he knows there's nothing under that too big t-shirt and he seeks out Scholle's half hard cock with inquisitive fingers. 

"Behave." Scholle gasps as Till closes his hand, savouring the feeling of his dick filling almost immediately. Till grins into his shoulder and slowly strokes him up and down just the once, just to see if he really does want him to behave. He doesn't protest again, instead merely leaning his head back on Till's shoulder and moaning so softly so close to his ear. Till turns to bite and lick at the length of exposed neck, pulling Scholle as close as possible with the hand not occupied with stroking his cock. 

It's tender and sweet and beautiful when Scholle spills over his hand, blissfully whimpering Till's name and grabbing at his leg desperately. Till holds him as he rides out the last waves and then slumps fully into Till's embrace. 

"I hate you." Scholle tells him, boneless and sated.

Till just laughs. "I know you do."

-

The sun warms Scholle's skin as he lies on his stomach at the side of the lake, his head pillowed on his forearms. The water is really too cold to spend any real length of time in it's depths but Till always seems to like it. He comes alive in the water, all of his awkwardness and nervous posture melts away and he becomes this graceful creature, a beaming smile permanently etched onto his face. Scholle can't take his eyes off him, and that has nothing to do with the way the water cascades down his chest when he surfaces for air, not in the slightest. 

He hasn't forgotten his promise to get Till at the front of a stage, made so determinedly back when they first met. He just wishes he could channel some of this Till, confident and sure of his movements into stage Till who stumbles and stares at the ground and tries to hide at every opportunity. This Till who hauls himself to his feet and strides out of the lake, dripping water and sex appeal absolutely everywhere. It's quite ridiculous, Scholle thinks, that he's so insecure. He wishes Till could see himself even a fraction of the way Scholle sees him. 

Though when Till flops down next to him and shakes the water from his hair like an overgrown dog, Scholle feels slightly less charitable, squirming away from the cold lake water splashing across his skin. 

"Do you mind?" He huffs, rolling onto his back and squinting up at Till. "I was enjoying the peace and quiet and warmth." 

Till just grins down at him before arranging himself so he's lying with his head resting on Scholle's stomach. His hand finds Scholle's and tangles their fingers together and Scholle's heart skips a beat. It's also quite ridiculous that Till still makes him feel like a high school girl with the slightest touch. He squeezes Till's hand.

"I wish we could stay here." He says, his mind drifting to work and responsibilities that await them when they rejoin the world.

"No you don't." Comes Till's reply as he squeezes Scholle's hand right back. 

Scholle frowns, feeling petulant. "Yes I do, no work, no stress just lounging about at the side of the lake with you."

Till chuckles and moves again, lying on his side and propping himself up on his elbow next to Scholle. "And all of your ambitions? Your guitar?" He asks, smiling down at Scholle in a way that makes his skin tingle. 

"I can go and get my guitar, we can do lakeside concerts to earn money." As Scholle speaks he lifts his hands so that he can tangle his fingers in Till's wet hair and tug him down. Till gives in very easily, planting his hand on the other side of Scholle's chest for balance as he kisses him fleetingly.

"Is that so?" He asks when he pulls away, his eyes sparkling with amusement. Scholle holds onto him to keep him firmly if precariously balanced over him. "I think Paul and Jorg might have something to say about that." 

Scholle rolls his eyes. "Paul can visit, Jorg can fuck off. Noisy bastard."

Till laughs again, his face crinkling in the way it only does when he's truly amused. Scholle tries to achieve that look as much as physically possible if only because Till's default 'thoughtful and sad' expression makes him look like a scolded puppy. 

"I thought you liked noisy?" He asks and quirks his eyebrow in the most infuriating way. Scholle feels his cheeks heating up at the implication. Till merely grins beatifically.

"Fuck off." Scholles growls even as he fights off the matching grin that threatens to take over his face. "I like it when you're noisy, in very specific situations." 

Till's gaze grows a little heated, his eyes seem to darken although his hand is soft when he trails it down Scholle's chest, smearing the water droplets that drip from his still wet hair. He leans down and kisses him, if Scholle was stood up, he's pretty sure he'd be weak at the knees. It's slow and languid and he feels as though he's being savoured. Heat spreads through his entire body as Till explores his mouth with his tongue, the hand he's not using for balance cupping Scholle's cheek lightly. He doesn't think he'll ever be used to the way Till touches him, he doesn't think he could ever find anyone who makes him feel quite like this. 

He audibly whines, when the need to breathe breaks them apart. Till doesn't go far, he's still so close that they're sharing air. "Fuck, Till." 

Till blinks at him. "You want to? Here?" He looks a little confused with just a dash of intrigue, some of his earlier confidence having melted into something softer. Scholle thinks about telling him that no he didn't mean literally fuck, but the images currently circling his brain must translate to a positive expression on his face. He registers Till throwing a leg over his thighs to sit astride his lap, he registers Till somewhat nervously rolling his hips and grinding down against him. He doesn't register much more after that beyond the sound of the water, the warmth of the sun and everything about Till, so perfect above him.

Later when he's gasping for breath and sticky, laying side by side with Till, both of them are quiet and staring blissfully at the sky. Till moves first, slowly standing up and holding a hand out to Scholle.

"Come and swim with me." He almost begs, eyes wide. "It'll clean you off if nothing else." 

Scholle is powerless to resist and lets himself be dragged back into the water, cold extremities be damned.

-

The walk back to his house is quiet, besides Scholle's occasional complaint that he's sure his fingers are going to drop off. Till rolls his eyes at every grumble, but he does stop and takes Scholle's hands in his, rubbing them together and blowing warm breath onto them. Scholle turns pink, which Till takes to be a good sign. 

"Can't have you unable to pick up a guitar again." He teases, earning himself a half hearted shove in the stomach. He catches Scholle's wrists, one in each hand and tugs so he falls off balance into Till's chest and arms. Stealing a kiss is ever so easy when Scholle looks up at him so smitten and dazed, he takes Till's breath away. 

"I love you." Scholle tells him with a dreamy look in his eyes, something Till never gets tired of hearing. "I love you and...race you back!" And Scholle tears out of his grasp and sprints up the hill in the direction of Till's house, the little shit. Till barks a laugh and sets off chasing after him. It does feel good to forget about the real world for a while and just enjoy life, maybe Scholle is onto something with his lakeside dream after all.

Scholle just beats him back to the house by a whisker, grinning at him triumphantly though he's panting and flushed. 

"You cheated." Till pouts, trying to gain control over his own breathing.

Scholle shakes his head. "No I didn't, I just used your sappy nature to my advantage."

Till presses a hand over his own heart, feeling it pounding under his skin. "You wound me."

Scholle just laughs delightedly and winds his arms around Till's shoulders, the skin on his back is damp with sweat when Till pushes his hands underneath his shirt. The smell of lake water and dirt has overtaken the coffee grounds and sex of this morning but it's just as addictive when he presses his nose against his neck. 

"Come on." He says, nudging Scholle backwards and beginning to walk him towards the door. "Inside, we need to clean up." 

"Mm." Scholle says with a grin. "Your mouth says clean up but your dick says fuck in the shower." He drops a hand from around Till's neck and presses his palm against the front of Till's pants. "See." 

Till thinks about protesting his innocence, but he opts for simply shrugging. "Whose fault is that?" He tries to prompt Scholle into walking again, he really does just want to get himself clean, whether fucking happens or not. Scholle isn't moving, he's just grinning at him like a cat that got into the cream so Till takes matters into his own hands, literally. With firm hands on Scholle's backside, he hoists him upwards, forcing him to put his legs around his waist to save himself from tumbling backwards. Despite this, he still protests.

"Fuck off, Lindemann!" He tries to admonish sternly, it's ruined by the giggles behind the words. 

Something in Till's chest feels tight and painful, this should be normal. This happiness, this laughter, it should be the way Scholle looks all the time. He shouldn't have to carry the weight of so much horror and so much worry. He certainly shouldn't have to be woken up in the middle of the night by a grown man who has nightmares over nothing. Scholle deserves the world but Till isn't quite sure that he can give it to him.

Gentle hands on his face pull him out of his thoughts and back to the present. "Where did you go?" Scholle asks softly, his eyebrows furrowed with concern. He's still in Till's arms, still clinging to his waist with his strong legs. Till shakes his head.

"No-where." He lies and goes to put Scholle back down on the ground but he holds tight, his thighs squeezing Till's sides.

"Oh no." He says, and kisses Till's forehead. "I beat you back here, now you have to carry me inside." He's got this little hopeful glint in his eyes, like he's hoping to snap Till out of the mood he's fallen into, simply by being demanding and sweet. He's so determined, it's always been one of Till's favourite things about him.

"Alright fine, princess." Till huffs, playing along. He takes slow steps, Scholle isn't exactly light and delicate, he's only a couple of inches shorter than Till after all.

As he gets round the side of his house, they're greeted by the sight of an interloper, sat on the doorstep and picking impatiently at fraying threads on his own trousers. Till sighs inwardly, so much for his very specific evening plans.

"Paul!" He greets, reluctantly letting go of Scholle who slides down his body a little too closely, and then grins as though he knew exactly what he was doing. Till chooses to ignore him. "To what do we owe the pleasure?" He says to Paul instead.

"I was bored, I thought I would come and visit my favourite not married married couple." Paul grins, spreading his arms to the side theatrically.

"So kind of you to wait for me and not break in this time." Till grumbles but sweeps Paul into a hug anyway. Paul complains that he's sweaty and horrible so Till makes a point of squeezing him even harder. Paul squawks and wriggles out of his grip only to find himself enveloped in a hug by an equally sweaty and horrible Scholle. Till laughs as he unlocks his door, side eyeing the two of them as they squabble and wrestle. They've become fond of each other in the way that brothers are, constantly at each other's throats but absolutely at each other's backs should the need arise. He whistles to break them apart and they pile into his house like rambunctious boys.

Paul makes a beeline for his sofa and sprawls out, kicking off his shoes and wriggling his toes in his socks. 

"Where's Flake?" Scholle asks him, he nudges Till out of the way so he can bend down and rummage in the fridge. He locates a few beers, not much, but enough. 

Paul accepts one of them with a scowl. "We're not joined at the hip you know." He grumbles. "Unlike some others I could mention." 

Scholle shoves him in the shoulder, if Till isn't careful he'll have a full on wrestling match on his hands so he catches Scholle's wrist. 

"Shower, remember?" 

Paul pulls another face at that. "Hurry up, no fucking."

Scholle smiles his most devilish smile. "No promises." And he scampers off to the bathroom, dragging Till by the hand.


	2. Evenings In and Mornings After

_I would live for you  
And break my heart in two  
I would give for you  
Like only fools would do  
I would hear you out  
And tell you all I could  
I would take your doubts  
And show you what I should_

_Let Me Break - Emigrate_

_-_

Scholle grins around the rim of his beer bottle, Paul is locked in a fascinating debate with Till about whether sex is better with women or men. Scholle would join in but he's too enthralled, watching the back and forth like a tennis match. Well, he's not actually watching, given that he's on the sofa, between Till's legs with his back to Till's chest. One of Till's arms is wrapped around his middle while the other is free to gesture and steal sips of the beer they're sharing and the occasional drag off Scholle's cigarette. They had stolen the sofa from Paul as soon as he had got up to use the bathroom. On your feet, lose your seat, so the saying goes. 

The increasingly ridiculous argument amuses him no end, and it's nice to hear Till so animated, even if it is over something crass. Truth be told, he's been worried, Till has been drifting off into strange introspective episodes more often recently. His eyes will darken or even glaze over and he drifts into a darkness Scholle doesn't really understand and can't follow him into. It's disconcerting and worrisome at best, downright scary at worst, especially when it brings the nightmares and haunted midnight tears. 

Scholle wriggles a little, getting comfy and trying to rid himself of his thoughts. He likes these evenings they share with friends, he doesn't want to waste it dwelling on something he can't do anything about at that exact moment. Till's arm tightens a little around his middle and he feels a kiss being pressed into his hair. He also sees the pretend disgust on Paul's face and sticks his tongue out childishly.

"So you're telling me." Paul says with a grin Scholle doesn't entirely trust. "Sex with this…" and he kicks out at Scholle's foot to demonstrate who he's referring to "...is preferable to sex with a pretty girl?" 

Scholle rolls his eyes and throws the cap of his beer bottle at Paul, though the sheer curiosity makes him tilt his head back and look up at Till. 

"Yep." Till says simply but so firmly Scholle's belly flips quite ridiculously. Till has said some truly beautifully romantic things to him, but confirmation of his physical attraction to Scholle always does something hot and syrupy to him. He kisses the underside of Till's jaw, the only part of him he can reach from this angle. He feels Till's throat contract as he swallows and smiles against his skin. He smells so good this close, clean and male and musky. 

The bottle cap hits him square in the chest, having been thrown straight back at him by Paul. "Please stop. I refuse to witness this."

"Well you know what you can do then don't you?" Scholle retorts, gratified by the amused huff from behind him and the indignant look on Paul's face. He settles back against Till feeling smug, knowing he's won this particular battle. It's quiet for a little while, the only noise is the record they've put on and the music washes over them like waves. 

And then someone's belly rumbles loudly and all three fall to giggles. 

Till wriggles out from underneath Scholle and dutifully wanders off to the kitchen, leaving Scholle and Paul to slouch about and wait for him. He starts singing along to the record and Scholle whips his head around to face Paul and raises his eyebrows meaningfully. 

"Yes alright, I get it." Paul hisses. "You're the one fucking him, you convince him." 

"I've tried!" Scholle snaps despairingly. "He won't listen."

"Hold out on him or something." Paul shrugs. "Actually don't do that, then you'll be in a bad mood all the time." 

Scholle scowls at him. "You're useless, do you know that?"

Paul just smiles at him serenely making Scholle want to throw more things at him. Thankfully Till returns at that point with bowls of heated up soup that smells heavenly, and some bread that Scholle thinks is probably the last of it. He'll have to make some more soon if they can get their hands on some flour. 

When Till carefully sits next to him and passes him his bowl, he immediately notices that Till has given himself less. Scholle is torn between exasperation and affection, Till's fatherly instincts are never so strong as when he's feeding people. He knows Till's gone without before just to make sure his child was well fed. Scholle immediately tears his bread up and hands half to Till, and shoves a potato or two clumsily into his bowl. Till doesn't say anything but he gets this tiny pleased smile on his face and his cheeks turn slightly pinker. 

"I'm not giving you any of mine." Paul says from across the room with his mouth full. Scholle rolls his eyes but holds his tongue and concentrates on his food. It's good, he should know, he made it after all. He allows himself a smile, remembering it taking twice as long to make than usual because Till spent the entire time pestering him and trying to distract him and in the end had spent the whole process plastered to his back with his arms around his waist. 

When they're done, Paul snatches the bowls out their hands muttering about being a good houseguest. He doesn't extend the good houseguest behaviour to actually washing dishes though and just dumps them in the sink, before rummaging in the fridge for more beer. 

"You're staying the night then?" Till asks when he returns with beers, vodka and a mischievous grin. 

"Yep!" Paul replies happily, settling himself back down in his chair after handing over some of his bounty. Scholle laughs and tugs Till across the sofa and into his arms.

-

Till drags Paul, giggly and yawning, onto the sofa and drapes him across it as carefully as he can manage. The beer and vodka are gone, along with another bottle from Till's ill-gotten stash and most of Till's dignity following a rather revealing game of truth or dare. He does find himself hoping that Paul is as drunk as he appears to be, hopefully he will forget all of his newly discovered knowledge by the time he's sobered up. 

He reaches out and clumsily grasps at a blanket draped over the back of the sofa, and pulls it until it falls over Paul. He resists the urge to tuck him in, unsure if that would earn him anything other than a slap in the face. As an afterthought, he grabs another smaller blanket and balls it up so he can shove it under Paul's head as gently as possible. Which isn't very gentle at all, judging by the noise of complaint. 

"Sorry." He mumbles, and gets the slap in the face anyway when Paul flails a hand at him and misjudges the distance between them. 

"S'fine." Paul insists as he twists his fingers in the collar of Till's sweater. "M'glad you're happy again." He tells him quite seriously, his eyes slightly glazed over but his face stoic. "Missed you when you were sad." 

Till forces himself to look at his friend who is watching him with an openness only drunk people are capable of showing, he feels _awful._ Was he really so mired in his own self pity that he affected his friends this much? 

"Sorry." He says again and feels woefully inadequate. He gets another flailing hand to the face for his trouble. 

"Not telling you off, Till. You're allowed to be sad, just don't be sad on your own next time." The clarity of his words is alarming, and Till narrows his eyes, perhaps he won't forget all of Till's innermost secrets after all. He thinks about brushing off the concern but decides that would be doing his friend a disservice so he nods once.

"I'll try." He promises with a half smile.

It seems to be enough for Paul who nods back and pats Till's cheek, it feels like a reward somehow. Till gives in to his urge then and tucks the blanket around Paul as best he can. He says good night with a ruffle of soft blonde hair and staggers off to his bedroom to locate his Scholle. 

There he is sprawled out on the bed, on his front with his limbs spread haphazardly across the sheets, he hasn't even got under them. He's barely got undressed, he's managed to shed his shirt but his pants are hanging off one foot and the other foot still has a sock on. Till feels nothing but fondness at the sight. 

"Scholle?" He whispers as he crawls onto the bed, carefully avoiding stepping on errant limbs. "Are you awake?" 

"No." Comes the belligerent reply, followed by the noise of fabric hitting the floor as he finally kicks his pants off. 

Till wriggles his way out of his own clothes and under the bed sheets, patting the space beside him to try and encourage Scholle to follow him. He does, albeit sluggishly, and then somewhat aggressively shoves his way into Till's arms. Till holds him close, feels his hot breath against the skin of his chest as it evens out when he falls asleep.

Till closes his eyes but sleep doesn't come, just agonising worry that he can't shift. He's sure he read somewhere that you should put it in a box and close the box so you don't have to think about it at that exact moment. But if he had a box, he thinks it would resemble Pandora's box already and he doesn't feel like examining that thought too closely.

He concentrates instead on the warm body pressed against his side. He feels soft skin under his fingertips and the tickle of body hair and the gentle rise and fall of Scholle's rib cage as he breathes in and out. It is somewhat soothing, as is the smell of him when Till buries his nose in his hair. Scholle's fingers tighten where they clutch at his side.

"Go to sleep." He mumbles. "I can feel you thinking." 

He lifts his head with visible effort so he can look at Till with bleary unfocused eyes. "Go to sleep." He says again, slightly softer, more pleading. Till has tried many times but he has never really been able to refuse him anything.

"Stop talking to me then." He grumbles, though he's pleased when Scholle just smiles and settles back down against his chest. 

Sleep remains elusive however, his head providing him with all manner of uncomfortable thoughts every time he shuts his eyes. He tries to even out his breathing, relax his muscles to give the impression that he's drifted off, but he knows he's failed when Scholle sighs softly some time later. 

"Till?" He asks, sounding so very tired that Till feels so incredibly guilty for keeping him awake. He tries to extricate himself from Scholle's grip so he can get out of bed and let him sleep, but he's held in place by strong arms and blunt fingernails pressing into his skin. "I can't believe you told Paul you cried the first time you had sex, how embarrassing for you." Scholle says, completely out of the blue and taking Till utterly by surprise. 

The anxiety keeping him tense and agitated floods out of him as he laughs entirely unbidden. Scholle pops up again and flashes him a cheeky grin, he opens his mouth to say something else but Till hauls him up so he can kiss him soundly and prevent him from saying anything else mortifying.

He finds sleep comes easier after that. Scholle has somehow wrapped himself even tighter around Till, wedging a leg between his thighs and shoving his head under Till's chin. He's entwined their fingers of one hand, and with the other he draws soothing patterns through Till's chest hair, going slower and slower as he drifts off again. Till follows him easily, his head feeling calmer than it has done for weeks. 

-

The morning brings dry mouth and a headache and Till cooing at him sympathetically when he drags the rumpled bed sheets over his face. 

"How are you not dying?" He groans when Till pulls the sheets back down again to press a kiss to his forehead. 

"Because I did the dares and answered all of Paul's questions, so I didn't have to do a forfeit shot every time." Till tells him and lets him have the blankets back. Ah, that would explain it, he thinks as he drops his head back into the pillows, stupid really. Scholle from last night has a lot of explaining to do. The sheets rustle towards the end of the bed and Scholle has to laugh when Till crawls up his body towards him.

His brown hair is made beyond messy by the sheets above his head, it's an adorable sight, but then he smiles devilishly and heat pools in Scholle's belly. 

"I could make you feel better?" Till purrs, slowly licking his lips and making his intentions perfectly clear. Scholle is powerless to resist those eyes so he swallows and nods, letting go of the bed sheets and lying back so Till can get to work.

The first touch of his hot mouth has Scholle groaning in appreciation, his hips angling upwards of their own accord. Till doesn't pin him down to stop him, but he does pull away to lap teasingly at his dick. His tongue feels almost shy and inquisitive as he licks his way across all of Scholle's heated skin before taking him all the way in again. Till's always been good at this, with his pouting mouth and skilled tongue, he knows exactly how to unravel Scholle in the shortest possible time. It should be faintly embarrassing but it feels far too good to be worrying about coming too soon. But then Till pulls off again, Scholle whines and squirms beneath him, he was _so close._

Till hums melodically and licks a long, slow stripe from the base of Scholle's dick to the very tip and at the same time pushes a wet finger very carefully into him. Scholle nearly rockets off the bed but this time Till does hold him down. He bobs his head and works his mouth relentlessly, as he moves his hand gently and with the utmost care. The differing sensations, and the way Till takes care of him even in these circumstances, send Scholle hurtling towards a climax that whites out his vision and makes his toes curl. 

When he opens his eyes again, Till is resting on his chest, grinning up at him with flushed cheeks and wet lips. "Feel better?" He asks, the picture of innocence with his messy hair falling across his eyes. Scholle brushes it back with a shaky hand and smiles dazedly down at him.

"Come here." He says in lieu of an answer. Till's smile grows ever wider and he pushes himself up and out from under the bed sheets. Scholle kisses him lazily, licking at his lips and tasting the lingering bitterness of himself on Till's tongue. 

Till draws back first but comes straight back in for a soft peck against Scholle's cheek. "Do you feel better? He asks, his eyes searching Scholle's face. 

"Yes, Till." Scholle says with a sarcastic little smile. "Your blowjob skills sucked the hangover right out of me." 

Till laughs at that and pats Scholle's chest as he rises up onto his knees, exposing Scholle to the slight chill of the room. He shivers and not just from the cold, Till's dick is dark and flushed and very clearly needs attention. Scholle licks his bottom lip almost unconsciously, he could repay the favour but he also doesn't quite feel up to doing much work. So instead he squirms his way round onto his front and wriggles his backside at Till, he hears the intake of breath and grins into the pillow.

Till works him open with patience and petroleum jelly, swiped off the shelf the last time Scholle was in the city. Till insisted he was fine with spit but after far too long spent watching him walking funny, Scholle had opted to get him a little _gift_ and finds himself incredibly glad of it on the occasions when they do it this way around. 

He's so careful when he pushes in, inching his way forwards until he's flush against Scholle's backside and Scholle groans, pleased at the feeling. He pulls back and rolls his hips, sliding back in a little harder and when he finds his rhythm he lets out a low moan above Scholle's head. Scholle grins and pushes back into his thrusts.

And then there's a loud crash and Scholle tenses up. In the rational part of his mind he knows it's just Paul falling off the sofa, or dropping something in the kitchen but still his heart hammers unpleasantly in his chest. He feels Till pull away from him completely and the bed dips as he lies next to him, opening his arms. Scholle seeks out his warmth and comfort, trying to breathe through his panic. Till strokes his hair and half sings soothing things to him until he feels calm enough again to release his iron grip on Till's sides. 

"Sorry." He mumbles, hiding his face by looking down.

"You have nothing to be sorry for." Till tries to reassure him, his voice rumbling through his chest where Scholle lays. 

Scholle doesn't necessarily agree with that statement, especially when he reaches down between Till's legs and finds his hands gently but firmly nudged away. He tries again, presses his body enticingly against Till and kissing him. But Till doesn't let him deepen it and he doesn't push back. When Scholle leans back to look him in the eye, there is nothing but worry and concern brimming in those forest green depths. 

"Till." He purrs, in his most seductive voice.

To no avail. Till just looks at him and shakes his head. He goes to wrap Scholle in another hug but suddenly it's too much and too hot and Scholle shoves him back. "Why not?" He demands, ignoring the naked hurt that creeps across Till's expression. 

"I'm not fucking you mid-panic attack, Scholle." Till says carefully, but the hurt is there in his voice too. 

Scholle growls. "I'm not mid-panic attack, fuck off." In truth he does feel panicky and guilty and like the room is far too small and he wants the comfort Till is offering to him but his wounded pride is taking over. He rolls away from Till and out of the bed, immediately swaying from standing up too quickly whilst hungover. Till's hand lands on the small of his back to steady him but Scholle jerks away. He forces himself to gather clothes through the fog in his brain and in front of his eyes and storms off to the bathroom, feeling ridiculous but needing space. As he leaves he hears Till softly calling his name but he ignores him in favour of slamming the bathroom door shut behind him. _Fuck._

-

Opting to give him space has Till morose and on edge as he throws coffee together under Paul's suspicious gaze. He can feel his eyes boring holes into his back as he refuses to look at him, knowing full well that he probably heard the stomping and door slamming. He just doesn't want to talk about it. Instead he hands a mug to Paul and lets him add his own sugar and milk, knowing how fussy he is about it, but he isn't placated by it.

"Don't talk to me then." He huffs, dumping sugar into his coffee. "Are you still coming back with me later? You both promised, remember?" 

Till remembers, Paul had insisted they come with him to some party and Till had been just drunk enough to agree although he's regretting it now. He doesn't want to back out on Paul though, not after his little heartfelt moment in the night. Till wonders if Paul remembers that. Possibly, going off how annoyed he is that Till won't talk to him. 

"Don't worry." He says with a smile he has to force, aiming for levity but suspecting that he's missing by quite a way. "I'll have to drive you back, might as well stay for a while right?"

"Right." Paul says sounding entirely unconvinced. Till is saved from any further digging by Scholle silently entering the kitchen at that moment. Till tries to smile at him but he avoids his gaze, looking down and getting himself coffee before immediately going outside to smoke.

Paul sighs and slumps in his chair. "Oh great." He grumbles, rolling his eyes. "You two are going to be such fun." 

Till stands motionless, unsure as to what he should do. On the one hand, he pushed Scholle away and now he's paying for it with this silence and space. On the other hand it feels wrong to leave him outside by himself. If he had a third hand, he'd also consider that he is entirely useless at this. He glances towards the door and imagines that he can see Scholle, sitting on the step and making his way through several cigarettes. 

"I'm not dealing with this all day, I'm hungover, I don't need this shit." Paul tells him, snapping him out of his reverie. "Go and talk to your boyfriend before I kill you both and bury you in the garden." 

"I'm bigger than you." Till says automatically, though it sounds hollow even to his own ears. 

"Till, I can and will kill you. Go and talk to him." Paul insists with a very serious look on his face. "You're the most disgustingly in sync two people I have ever met, I can't cope with you not fawning all over each other, it's too weird." 

Till shakes his head, drinks his coffee, tries to think of something to say and ends up just shaking his head again. Scholle made it very clearly he wanted to put some distance between them and Till was going to respect that. 

"Why not?" Paul asks, Till winces, it's the second time today he's been asked that and last time didn't go so well for him.

"He wants space." He mumbles after some thought.

"Did he specifically say that?"

"Well no." Till argues. "But…" 

"Nope." Paul interrupts. "Outside. Talk." 

Till stares at him, still unsure but eventually the desire to not fight with Scholle wins out and he slinks outside to find him. He thinks if he had a tail it would be firmly tucked between his legs. He finds Scholle exactly where he thought he would be, chain smoking and staring off into the distance as though it has personally wronged him somehow. So angry, his Scholle. 

"I'm sorry." Till starts, quiet and contrite as he sits next to him on the step. He takes a cigarette from the pack, confident at least that Scholle will allow him that. He puts it between his lips and looks around but can't see a lighter, Scholle must have one. He's about to ask but Scholle turns to him and leans forward, cupping his cheeks and lighting the smoke with the lit end of his own. It feels intimate and like he's being let in.

"It's okay." Scholles replies after a couple of minutes of silent smoking. "You were right to stop me." 

He doesn't elaborate, not that Till was expecting him to pour his heart out. He knows very little about what went on _before_ but Scholle is far more nervy and quick to jump these days. He doesn't ask about it, doesn't know if he even should ask about it. Instead he watches Scholle's profile, his sharp jaw and soft eyelashes. He really is gorgeous.

"You're staring." Scholle accuses him but there is the barest hint of a smile tugging the corner of his mouth upwards. Till wants to kiss him there. 

"You're worth staring at." He insists, in full knowledge that it's _a line_ but on balance, it's a fairly successful one. 

Scholle snorts, smoke curling from his mouth and into the morning air. "Fuck off, Till." He crushes the smoke out on the step next to him as Till watches, then he turns to face him with nervous eyes. 

"I'm sorry too." He says very softly, Till rather thinks that he would forgive him absolutely anything. He crushes his own cigarette and holds his arms out. The sheer relief on Scholle's face as he falls into Till's embrace would be comical in any other situation but right here and now Till just squeezes him tightly and kisses the hair at the side of his head. 

"You owe me a blowjob." He mutters into Scholle's ear after a moment. Scholle just laughs, loud and bright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kitthefox on tumblr, if you feel like saying hello :)


	3. New Friends and Electric Beats

__

_Come along with me  
And do anything 'cause  
Nothing's what it seems to be with you   
Baby don't you hide  
From me  
Your pretty heart._

_Rainbow - Emigrate_

_"In every house there was a techno or rave party and we would go there… and we would stay there into the day time, and dance to these electric beats - I mean can you imagine us dancing like that?" Richard 2019_

-

It's funny, Scholle thinks, watching Till interact with people he doesn't know so well. He's sure that if he so wanted to and despite all of Till's apparent awkwardness and supposed shyness, he could probably charm absolutely anyone into bed with a flex of his arm and a half smile. And he does say that sex is the easy part, it's everything else that's difficult, he laments with a shrug. A sentiment that makes Scholle all the more grateful for the sheer amount of effort Till puts into their relationship. His mind drifts to earlier today when Till could have reacted to his panic and subsequent anger so very differently, but if nothing else Till is unfailingly kind and patient. Scholle doesn't think he has a cruel bone in his entire body. 

He's getting distracted from his careful observation of Till being drawn into conversation by some boy Scholle distantly recognises. He thinks maybe he has seen his band a couple of times, or perhaps just bumped into him at one gig or another. The boy's hand is on Till's bicep and the first stirrings of possessiveness make themselves known in Scholle's chest. It's a perfectly _nice_ bicep but he's rather come to think of it as _his_ bicep or at the very least _their_ bicep. 

Till's gaze drifts away from the boy whilst he's talking and he catches Scholle's eye and winks. Scholle grins back at him, he's being ridiculous, he has absolutely nothing to worry about. Still, it wouldn't hurt to go over there and hypothetically mark his territory as it were. He gathers two beers, and heads over. He tries not to smile too smugly when Till's full attention is trained on him, thanking him for the beer and immediately scooting over to make room for Scholle. 

The boy looks a bit put out but Scholle doesn't care, the space at Till's side belongs to him and him alone. Still he makes polite conversation until the boy gets bored and makes his excuses, leaving them alone again. Till leans casually close to Scholle, innocently trying to be heard over the music to the outside eye, but Scholle knows different.

"You scared him off." Till's voice rumbles mere inches from his ear. Out of the corner of his eye Scholle sees Till's self satisfied little smirk. "Feeling threatened?" The teasing lilt sends a shiver down Scholle's spine, he wants very desperately to find an empty bedroom and show Till exactly how he feels. But he can't do that, he doesn't think their friends particularly care what they get up to but you never quite know who might be watching. Instead he angles his body towards Till, so that can hide his hand as he pushes it under the hem of Till's shirt. 

"Just stopping you from making a bad decision, he wasn't pretty enough for you." He says lightly, punctuating his words with his nails digging into Till's hip. 

Till's eyes glitter. "Is that so?" He drinks from his beer slowly, licking his lip after. Scholle watches the movement of his throat and then his tongue. 

"And who is?" Till asks, tilting his head in an innocently curious sort of way. Flirtatious little bastard. 

Scholle bites his lip and looks up at Till through his lashes, well if he has to ask, then Scholle is going to show him. Till grins wolfishly and licks at the lip of his beer bottle. Scholle feels a little bit light headed from the weight of his desire to have his lover trembling underneath him right the fuck now. But it probably wouldn't do to just throw him over something so he decides to step back and put a bit of distance between them. 

Till frowns at him, though he's smiling as well. "Tease." 

That seems very hypocritical for someone who was flirting with him quite so ostentatiously not half a minute ago. Scholle feels giddy from it, and pleasantly tipsy, and he _likes_ this song. 

"Dance with me." He says, before he can really think about what he's asking. Till stares at him incredulously, his eyes wide and faintly alarmed, all traces of flirtatiousness now replaced with panic. 

"Are you serious?" Till asks him. Scholle nods, he's very serious. The music is electronic and kind of bouncy and several people are already dancing, he just wants to move. He's no dancer but he thinks he could get away with it because he has a modicum of rhythm. 

"Please?" He begs, fluttering his eyelashes at Till. He can see Till's resolve crumbling right in front of his eyes, and at the exact point his shoulders slump in acceptance, Scholle grins triumphantly and drags him by the arm over to the small crowd. He doesn't think Till has ever looked quite so uncomfortable as he does now, but he's trying and that's what counts. 

They drink and dance, and drink more and he feels _so good._ Till's even loosened up enough that he no longer looks like a marionette and even looks like he's enjoying himself. He's sure they look absolutely ridiculous, but he doesn't care, it's too much fun to dance like an idiot with the love of his life. 

Eventually the need to smoke claws its way into his throat, so he takes Till by the hand and tugs him away and towards a quieter spot. Till follows him, tripping slightly over his own feet in his eagerness, making Scholle snort in amusement. Till pouts at that, bottom lip sticking out, Scholle kind of wants to bite it. 

"Put that away." He says with a grin, pushing a smoke between Till's lips. He's running low so he lights it right there, and lets Till smoke a bit before taking it back from him. They don't say anything, just smile at each other and pass the cigarette back and forth comfortably. The room fades away for a few moments and it's just them and god, Scholle is so deep in love with him. The suggestion to leave, to run from the party, just the two of them into the night is on the tip of his tongue. But then someone bumps into him and his little bubble is broken.

-

Till feels an enormous sense of deja vu watching Scholle whirl around on the spot with anger in his eyes. Thankfully, blessedly, it's just Flake and the fight bleeds out of him instantaneously. Till breathes a sigh of relief, he doesn't fancy fighting tonight, he absolutely would if Scholle needed him of course but it's not exactly high on his list of priorities. 

"Sorry, sorry." Flake says hurriedly. "Have you seen Paul anywhere, or Schneider?" 

Till blinks. "Schneider?" A sideways glance at Scholle confirms he is drawing a similar blank.

Flake pushes his glasses up his nose. "New drummer, you'll like him, if I can ever find any of them ever again."

Till feels as though that's quite a dramatic statement from Flake who is not usually prone to the dramatics, or maybe he is but tends to be drowned out by Paul and Aljoscha. Or perhaps he's just a bit drunk. 

"Sorry we haven't seen them." Scholle says, interrupting his thoughts and patting Flake on the arm. Not that they've been paying any kind of attention to anything but each other, Till adds in his head. He's not sure he has a career as a dancer ahead of him but Scholle's bright eyes and joyful grin had kept him there, awkwardly moving until he actually started to enjoy himself. 

"They can't have gone far." Scholle is saying to a slightly morose Flake, Till is oddly reminded of when his daughter has misplaced some cherished toy or other and then begins an elaborate hunt to try and find it. Usually it's to be found in the most obvious place possible, so Till glances over to the kitchen and spots a blonde ponytail moving animatedly whilst it's owner talks. He's stood with a tall, dark haired man that Till assumes is probably this Schneider, funny, he doesn't _look_ like a drummer. But then neither does Till if Scholle is to be believed, which he isn't, especially not in relation to that. The man he assumes is Schneider doesn't exactly look thrilled to be the sole recipient of Paul's diatribe so Till whistles out loud. Half the room turns to look at him but importantly so does Paul.

After gleefully skipping across the room and dragging poor Schneider with him, Paul launches himself into Till's arms and he's forced to stagger backwards to stop them both from crashing to the floor. Scholle snorts, Flake shakes his head, Schneider looks utterly indifferent and a little confused.

"Schneider is it?" Scholle asks politely, sticking a hand out to the man and drawing his attention away from Till and Paul. The shorter man is now hugging him fiercely, Till can hardly breathe from the force of it. "I'm Richard nice to meet you." 

Till startles at that, he still isn't used to it. The name Scholle came back with, printed in black and white on his new paperwork. He lets his very close friends (Till, Paul, Flake) call him Scholle still but everyone else calls him Richard now and it's so very surreal. It's a stark reminder to Till that it hasn't sunk in yet. It hasn't quite settled into his brain that his partner, boyfriend, lover, _best fucking friend_ is a completely different person now in ways Till doesn't think he'll ever understand. 

His racing and somewhat panicky train of thought is derailed when Scholle points at him and says, "and this is Till." Till focuses again and finds them both looking at him expectantly.

He adjusts his hold on Paul who is still clinging to his waist so that he can take Schneider's hand properly. His hands are cool and he has calluses in all the right places, he certainly feels like a drummer then. "Good to meet you." Till says in a rush when they part, suddenly realising that he hasn't actually said anything during this entire introduction and not wanting to appear rude.

"You too." Schneider nods, his voice clipped and measured. Till doesn't miss the way his piercing blue eyes drift back to Scholle as soon as they're done being introduced. Understandable really, he is the more dynamic of the two of them after all and he managed to introduce himself without looking a complete fool.

"Till plays drums too." Paul chirps suddenly. "We tried to convince him to play for us but he wouldn't so we're stuck with you instead." He lets go of Till at this point and goes to stand at Flake's side, elbowing Schneider on the way past. Till blinks and glances at Scholle who just looks faintly amused about the entire exchange. Once again Schneider looks mildly confused, Till almost wants to offer him his sympathies. Clearly Paul hasn't quite yet warmed up to the poor boy.

"Till can't possibly play for two bands at the same time, how would he find the time to indulge your every whim, Landers?" Scholle asks with a grin colouring his words, he folds his arms and looks at Paul in a teasing manner.

"It's not my whims he's indulging." Paul snickers, clearly finding himself incredibly amusing. Scholle rolls his eyes at that, though he's still smiling.

Schneider's piercing gaze flicks to Till meanwhile, and it's the most scrutiny he thinks he's ever felt in his life. He could crumble under the weight of that gaze. Scholle shifts just the slightest bit closer to him, eyes hard, chin raised defiantly but eventually Schneider just shrugs and turns his attention to Paul and Flake. Till tunes them out, focuses on Scholle's body heat radiating mere inches away from him. He doesn't even know why he's feeling so out of sorts, he was so blissful not twenty minutes ago and now he wants to crawl out of his own skin. 

He digs his fingernails into his palms to ground himself, listening to the fuzz of conversation going on around him. A gentle touch on his wrist draws his attention, he looks down to see Scholle's fingers curled around his forearm. He looks back up to his face and is greeted with a questioning look, an eyebrow raised in concern. He's not sure how to explain how he feels, what he wants, without admitting to a thousand things he doesn't really want to admit to right now.

And anyway, this is supposed to be fun, he _was_ having fun. Making a decision, he consciously shoves his worries to the back of his mind, he can concentrate on them later. There are more important things at hand, like inclining his head questioningly back to where they were dancing and thoroughly enjoying the enthusiastic nod and blinding smile he gets in response. 

-

Some time later, Scholle finds himself alone with Schneider, they've had a brief chat about bands and music and the like, the usual conversation around here but now they have lapsed into silence. The other man clears his throat to break it.

"So you and him?" He ventures and nods over to where Till is being talked at by Aljoscha, Scholle looks over and snorts, recognising the slightly glazed over look in Till's eyes. He should probably go and rescue him soon, before he gets roped into something untoward. But then the actual question filters through and he turns back to Schneider a little suspiciously. 

"What about me and him?" He asks, bristling slightly. He's not sure if he's going to have to fight someone who doesn't like the idea boys fucking, or fight someone who does but wants Till. He didn't miss the look Schneider gave Till when they were introduced after all, and he still can't quite figure him out. Nice or not however, he's not above staking his claim.

Schneider shrugs and holds out his hands placatingly. "There's just rumours." 

Scholle rolls his eyes, a little frustrated at that. Although part of him can't deny the tiniest thrill at being the subject of a rumour, it feels very much like something that happens to rock stars. Mostly though it's just annoying "There's always rumours." He dismisses with a wave of his hand.

"You're not going to give me an answer are you?" Schneider asks him with a little teasing grin, it's entirely disarming and Scholle breathes out, a little more relaxed.

"Nope." It's easy to return the smile when he doesn't feel quite so threatened and on edge anymore.

"You're worse than Paul." Schneider complains, knocking his beer against Scholle's companionably.

Scholle gives him his best offended look, eyes wide with pretend shock. "How dare you, I am not!" 

They share another grin and Scholle relaxes, as it turns out, Schneider is nice and fairly undeserving of Paul's snarkiness. Not that Scholle thinks Paul will ever stop, he's only really fully nice to Till and Flake. A lesser man might be concerned about just how close Till and Paul are but then Paul goes all misty eyed over Flake and jealousy becomes entirely unnecessary. Anyway Scholle likes Schneider, they have a lot in common, and in the back of his mind it doesn't escape him that another drummer might be what he needs to convince Till to give drumming up. 

Speaking of Till, he turns his attention back to him, never quite able to forget about him for too long. He's still being talked at, always ever so polite, his Till. Schneider follows his gaze and snorts. "Look I don't care if they're just rumours or not, but if I were you, I would be rescuing him pretty soon." 

Scholle finds himself agreeing with that assessment and shouts Till's name. When he looks up, Scholle beckons him over and tries not to laugh at the relief that flickers across his usually stony face as he approaches.

"Hi." He breathes with a grateful smile, stealing Scholle's beer and draining the rest of it.

"Having fun?" Scholle enquires innocently with a flutter of his eyelashes. Till rolls his eyes, looking a little bit stressed.

"I think I've just agreed to a gig, I'm not sure." He explains, flustered.

Scholle grins. "Oh is that all? Schneider here thought you were getting propositioned." 

Schneider balks at that and suddenly announces that he needs another drink and all but flees from them. They watch him go, both somewhat confused, until Till finally answers the question. "Honestly, who knows with him, I don't think I agreed to that though, don't worry." He frowns then, once again looking in the direction Schneider fled in "What was all that about?" 

"He's heard _rumours."_ Scholle tells him cryptically, wiggling his fingers in the air for added mystery. Till's eyes sparkle with mirth at the gesture.

"If those kinds of rumours bother him, he's in the wrong band." Till says in a deadpan that makes Scholle laugh delightedly. Till flashes him a wickedly charming grin and a wink, the flirting is back with a vengeance then. It's the sort of grin that makes him want to kiss it off his face, push him against something, bite on his lip until he moans, _fuck him_. Something must show on his face because Till tells him to behave. He doesn't want to behave, he just wants him.

"Bathroom, five minutes." He growls and stalks off, he doesn't even wait for a reply, fully confident that Till will do what he says. He is so very obedient and eager to please when it comes to sex after all.

And he does exactly as he's told and Scholle's got him crowded against the door almost as soon as it's slammed shut, it doesn't even lock but as long as he keeps him pinned in place he's sure they'll be fine. Till groans when his back hits the wood, Scholle surges forward and swallows it in a rough kiss, forcing his mouth open and claiming every inch with his tongue. 

Without breaking the kiss he shoves his hand down Till's pants, finding him already hard and leaking when he closes his fingers around him. In a way he's glad that Till is just as worked up as he feels, even though there is no way he's going to last long, not with the way his dick twitches in his hand. There isn't much space and it's probably a little painful where his knuckles press into Till's lower abdomen but then Till likes to be hurt every now and again. With that in mind, Scholle turns his attention to Till's bared throat and bites down, drawing a strangled whine from him. 

"Hush now." He whispers into abused skin, flicking his tongue against the angry looking bite marks. Till does his best to stay quiet, but a few tiny little gasps slip through his teeth as Scholle strokes his dick firmly, and everytime one does Scholle bites him again. By the time he comes, trembling and clamping his lip between his teeth so no sound escapes him, his throat and neck are littered with bruises, his lip is bloody and he looks entirely ruined. One of Scholle's favourite ways for him to look, second to naked and thoroughly fucked.

"What was that for?" He gasps, leaning his head back against the door. Scholle shrugs, looking around for something to wipe his hand on and finding nothing that he feels like touching. He opts to lick himself clean instead and the whine that comes from Till when he does is like the sweetest music to his ears. 

"I wanted to." Scholle says simply when he's done, his voice low and purring. He presses his fingertips into a particularly red mark on Till's neck, watching the way his eyelashes flutter at the sensation, his teeth sinking into his already abused lip. "Too many eyes on you, on what's mine." He growls, as he digs a fingernail into the bruise and Till shudders.

Till looks at him then, eyes wide and dark. "Fuck." He breathes and drops to his knees with a thud. Scholle grins and braces himself with one hand against the door and one hand tangled roughly in Till's hair. 

-

He's drunk and tired and he's pretty sure the sun will be coming up by now if he chooses to find a window. His neck and his lip and his knees are bruised and throbbing, and there's only so much teasing he can take about the state of him from the people still here. It's making him snappy and defensive, his ability to be social now completely drained. Scholle has abandoned him in favour of talking animatedly with his new best friend so Till hides out in the kitchen, smoking and brooding. There's no beer left that he can find so he's left drinking some truly hideous whiskey which is only making his mood worse. He's already snapped at Paul for pestering him, and got a scowl and a cold shoulder in response which he'll be paying for for days. 

He wants to sleep, or ideally, just leave and go home but he's also not that shitty a person that he'll just leave Scholle behind and anyway it's quite the journey from here to there. He sighs moodily and swallows a mouthful of the atrocious booze. He shudders, it burns and tastes very much homemade. Briefly he wonders if he's about to go blind. That would be a shame he thinks, never being able to see his daughter smile again, or the flowers blooming in spring, or the endless depths of Scholle's pretty eyes. He swallows another mouthful, his eyesight still very much intact. 

He hears footsteps and looks down at the ground, not exactly sure who he's hoping it will be, but not wanting to acknowledge them either way. He knows it's Scholle when he comes to stand in front of him with his hands on his hips. 

"So apparently there's a grumpy bear in here snapping at anyone who comes sniffing around." He pauses and takes the bottle from Till's hands, putting it down on the side. "Would you know anything about that?"

He's teasing and Till huffs. "I'm not in the mood, Scholle." He reaches to his side for the bottle and growls when his hand is slapped away. "Fuck off." 

Stubborn fingers under his chin tilt his head up and make him look into those endless depths. He tries to pull away from the scrutiny but stubborn fingers become stubborn hands on his cheeks holding him still. 

"Don't tell me to fuck off." Scholle tells him, a displeased frown forming, his fingertips pressing into Till's skin to emphasise his point.

Till scoffs. "So it's alright for you to say it but not me?" He regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth but he's too far gone for social graces at this point. 

Beyond all reason, Scholle actually softens a little. He lets go of Till's face but only to stroke his hair with one hand and push the other under his shirt, stroking soothing circles on his lower back. "Tired?" He asks, his voice gentle if a little icy after being snapped at.

Till nods feeling like a scolded child. He leans forward and rests his forehead on Scholle's shoulder, all of his energy completely sapped from him.

"Why didn't you say something then? We could have left ages ago." Scholle asks quite reasonably, unfortunately Till doesn't have a reasonable answer for him. He's just _tired_ and _drunk_ which actually seems a very reasonable excuse when he thinks about it. 

What he actually says however is that he doesn't know, he doesn't know why he couldn't just behave like a normal person and tell his lover that he was done for the night. He doesn't know why he hid away instead of just opening his mouth, _he doesn't know._ Scholle shushes him by kissing him softly, his hands now firmly on his hips.

"You're an idiot." He says against his lips, sounding fond and exasperated in that way that only he can. "And you taste disgusting. No more of that, whatever it is." 

"It's all there was." Till protests. He drapes his arms around Scholle's shoulders and tangles his fingers in the hair at the back of his head now that he figures he isn't in trouble. He either craves closeness or solitude when he's tired, this is a closeness sort of tired.

Scholle wriggles, a visible shiver going down his back when Till's fingers scrape his scalp. "That doesn't mean you should drink it." He admonishes with no bite whatsoever before kissing him again. It's sweet and a little bit playful, it makes Till feel completely ridiculous and loved and a bit like he could cry. But that could also be the alcohol talking. 

He takes his time, as though he's trying to rid Till of his mood with his kisses. He is patient and fond in the way that he licks into Till's mouth, and there is happiness when he smiles against his lips when Till whimpers low in his throat. He could kiss him forever.

A cough makes them leap apart however, both wildly glancing at the source of the noise, it's just Flake though for the second time that evening.

"Apologies for the interruption, I am taking Paul home. Would you like to come with?" 

Scholle looks at Till questioningly, he responds with an enthusiastic nod. He does want that very much, staying at Paul and Flake's means a relatively comfortable sofa to squash onto with Scholle. It means food in the morning and it means a chance to apologise for being mean to Paul as soon as is humanly possible. 

"We'll come with you." Scholle confirms. He takes Till by the hand when Flake has nodded and gone to gather up Paul. He slots their fingers together and Till can't resist lifting his hand and kissing Scholle's knuckles reverently. The blush he gets is delightful.

"I'm sorry for being a 'grumpy bear' as you so charmingly put it." He mumbles and squeezes Scholle's hand as he lowers it again.

"I happen to like grumpy bears, don't worry." Scholle replies with a sweet smile. "Now come on, grumpy bears need to hibernate." 

Till sighs in relief, absolutely they do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise there is a plot to this and it isn't just a load of mindless fluff. 
> 
> kitthefox on tumblr if you would like to say hi :)


	4. Trust Issues and a New Name

_This is my world  
Burn it, burn it_

__

__

_Our whole existence starts to change  
We're born with love and born with rage_

_Now you get along with me_  
_I'm gonna make you mine  
And make you free  
In the new world._

__

__

_My World - Emigrate_

_\---_

Another night, another nightmare. It's him this time hurtling awake into Till's sleepy, safe embrace. He wraps him up in his arms and holds him as he shakes, stroking his hair and telling him that he's safe, that he's there with him and he won't let him get hurt. Scholle hates crying, but he can't stop himself from sobbing into Till's chest, the fear still sour and cloying in his throat. He curls closer to Till, seeking his body heat, his comfort. Till is obliging, lets him hide until he's calmer. 

"I'm sorry for waking you." Scholle whispers when his voice returns, still pressed against Till's chest, his body hair tickles. He feels Till nuzzle into his hair from above, he grimaces slightly, fairly certain he's a sweaty mess but that doesn't deter Till from kissing him there. 

"Don't need to be sorry." He mumbles sleepily. "I wake you up enough." 

Scholle shifts slightly so he can look at him, but what he was going to say is immediately cut off when he lifts a hand to wipe away rogue tears still clinging to Scholle's cheeks. If nothing else, Scholle is at least glad that Till understands this. 

He's still shivering, despite Till's warmth, the man is a living furnace but Scholle still feels cold. His fingers and hands shake as he tries to ground himself by feeling Till's muscles shift under his skin. It works a little but not much.

Till yawns and stretches, his whole body taut and shuddering, a nice distraction if nothing else. "Come on." He says cryptically and slowly sits up in bed. The blankets pool around his waist and he gathers them up to wrap them around Scholle's shoulders. Scholle grasps the edges and pulls them tight around himself, Till smiles at that. 

"I'm going to make something to drink." He says. "Are you staying or coming with?" With another yawn, he stands and begins hunting for clothes in the semi darkness. Scholle watches him drag a sweater over his head, and boxers up his legs before he realises he asked him a question. 

"I'm coming with you." He answers in a hurry, not really wanting to be left on his own. He brings the warmest blanket with him, wrapping it tightly around himself like a cloak as he silently pads after Till towards the kitchen. He hates this, he hates feeling this helpless, trailing after Till like a child because he had a bad dream. He doesn't even remember what it was about but he remembers feeling trapped, terrified and utterly alone. Sometimes he wonders if this is really the dream and he's still locked away in his cell, telling himself stories to stave off the horror and isolation. 

"Scholle?"

With a start he realises he's missed another question, Till is watching him with a tilted head and a terribly worried expression. Scholle stares back at him, and the longer he looks the more his vision blurs. He doesn't want to cry again so he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. Gentle hands pull his arms down again and make him jump, Till can move so quietly when he wants to. 

Scholle peers into his gentle green gaze, radiating love he doesn't feel worthy of. Large hands carefully hold his own, comforting, grounding and steady. Till doesn't do anything else, his thumbs stroke over Scholle's wrists and it's so soothing. He seems content to just wait, he doesn't press or push, or try and offer empty sympathy. He's just there. Scholle whimpers and throws his arms around Till's neck, feels him hug him back tightly. 

"What did you ask me?" He mumbles. "I wasn't listening."

Till huffs, amused, close to his ear. "I asked what you wanted to drink." He moves Scholle back slightly, cups his face in his warm hands. The kiss he places on Scholle's nose is terribly fond and sweet and Scholle can feel his face heat up. 

"You're very cute when you blush." Till tells him and kisses his nose again.

He can't help the indignant squawk that escapes him. "I'm not cute." He insists, fully aware that he's a stamp of his foot away from appearing incredibly childish. 

"What are you then?" Till asks with a raised eyebrow, and it silences him. He has no idea how to answer that. He's fairly certain he's a mess, his hair feels as though it's stuck up at odd angles and he's mostly naked apart from a blanket and yesterday's boxers. He needs a shower and maybe another few hours of sleep. A glance down and he notices absently that he's a little thinner than he used to be. Times are harder of late, even Till seems a bit less broad. So now he feels guilty, for coming back and being another mouth to feed without even asking if it was okay. He feels guilty for keeping Till awake when he knows full well that he has a workshop full of orders he needs to finish. He feels a lot of things and he's most definitely a mess, and not at all cute. 

_"Richard?"_ Till's voice cuts across his thoughts like a hot knife through butter. He blinks, a little startled. Oh he really likes the way that name sounds coming from Till's mouth. 

"What?" 

"You stopped listening again." Till says with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Why did you call me Richard?" He asks. He doesn't know why he needs to know, but he does. Till never calls him Richard, it feels a little bit like when his mother would call him by his full name when he was in trouble. 

Till's smile turns wary and confused. "Because it's your name? You weren't answering to Scholle." 

"Say it again." He demands. 

Till's eyes narrow, clearly baffled, but he complies. He draws it out into a purring, rolling sound and it's never sounded more like _his name_ than when Till says it.

"You should call me that more often." He says, winding his arms around Till's waist and pushing his hands under his sweater at the back. His skin is warm and familiar in stark contrast to the uncertainty in his eyes. He watches as a dozen emotions cross Till's face in quick succession, this feels incredibly important and he silently begs Till to go with it. He thinks he knows why he's so unsure and he definitely knows they should talk about it properly before it overwhelms them but maybe it can wait a little bit longer. 

"Alright, if you want. I'll try and remember." Till finally says. "For now though could you please make a decision about a drink? Otherwise we're just standing in the kitchen talking about what your name is." 

He beams at Till, so very thankful that he didn't make it weird. "Tea? I don't need anything sweet when I've got you." The bashful little smile he's treated to before Till turns away to fulfil his request makes his heart skip. This is fine for now.

-

They end up on the step, watching the sun come up with their hands curled around steaming mugs. Till cannot help but worry that it's too cold for this because neither of them are fully dressed, but he had received a hand pressed over his mouth and an admonishment that he fretted too much so he went with it. The blanket they're sharing helps, draped around their shoulders as they sit pressed together from shoulder to thigh. Scholle (Richard?) sips contentedly, the lingering traces of his nightmares now faded. Till watches his profile, his eyelashes, the slope of his nose and the curve of his lip. He's so beautiful, and Till is so very foolish. 

"Why Richard?" He asks, curious and quiet and a little too afraid to say it any louder. A little too afraid that his fears might come to life and this person who isn't the same anymore might leave him behind. Everything always seems far more real at night, things he can usually ignore during the day plague him far more tangibly in the dark.

The warm body beside him stiffens almost imperceptibly. He watches as fingers tighten around the mug until knuckles turn white. He wants to tell him to forget it, that he doesn't have to answer, he didn't even mean to ask. But then he starts talking. 

And he tells him everything about the time they don't talk about, down to the smallest harrowing detail. He tells him about getting arrested and all that that entailed, getting out, getting home and leaving again that same night. He tells him about walking for days and missing him so much it hurt. He tells him about the west and how free he felt and how wrong it all was without Till by his side. He tells him about hearing that it was safe to go back and how his new friends tried to stop him but all he could think was how that wasn't home because it wasn't with Till. He tells him with a little smile, the first time he's shown any emotion the entire time he's been speaking, that he picked Richard simply because he liked it more than Sven. Sven was a boy with a boy's dreams, Richard is the one that's going to make it. 

When he goes quiet Till is devastated for him, and in awe of him and a hundred other things besides. His heart feels as though it could burst from the depth of love he feels for his brave, determined, complicated boy. His stomach however wants to rebel from the painful ball of anxiety solidifying there. He had had some idea of what went on, what little Scholle told him in the few hours they had together when he got back from being locked up. And then there were the snippets and rumours from people surprised that Till didn't already know the whole story, but it's the first time it's all been laid out for him and it has taken him by surprise. He has so many questions but he doesn't know if he's allowed to ask, so he says nothing. He realises he's been quiet for too long when callused fingers entangle with his own. 

"Say something." Scholle begs, his eyes wide and imploring. 

"Why didn't you say goodbye?"

It isn't the question he thinks he should have started with but it's the one that slips out. Nothing has ever terrified him quite as much as waking up to an empty bed and an empty house. When it had hit him that Scholle had gone, some part of him had understood but mostly he had been completely shattered. 

Scholle looks at him sadly. "I couldn't do it, so I just left. I'm such a coward, I'm sorry."

Till frowns at that and squeezes his hand regardless of what happens, that absolutely isn't the case at all. "You have never been a coward." He insists and shifts himself so they're more facing each other. "Everything you've been through, you are anything but that." He murmurs before leaning in and kissing him softly, trying to rein in his desperation. His lips are damp with tears and when he pulls back they're streaking unchecked down his pretty cheeks. Till brushes at them with his thumbs.

"Richard cries a lot more than Sven did." He says in his gentlest voice, reserved only for inconsolable boyfriends and daughters. 

He gets a one handed shove in the chest for his efforts but he's smiling again which is what matters. 

"Shut up. This is your fault." He rubs at his eyes with the back of wrist, looking flustered and rumpled. "You're being far too nice to me."

"How am I being too nice? Would you like me to be less nice?"

"Yes!" Scholle huffs. "Maybe." He amends. "You could at least be a little bit angry with me." 

Till bites his lip nervously. "Why would I be angry with you?" 

"For leaving you like that." He looks so terribly earnest and wide eyed and sure in his perception that Till should be angry. 

He decides to be at least a little bit honest. "I'm angry that you had to leave in the first place, but not at you for leaving." 

Scholle looks unconvinced, his eyes flickering around as though searching for something. He sighs, apparently not finding what he was looking for. "Alright." Till feels like a disappointment.

They sit in silence for a moment and it feels more uncomfortable than usual, more forced and like they just don't know what to say to each other. Till supposes it was going to happen eventually, the easy way they fit together could never really last. Not with him being himself and the way he is and then everything that has happened to Scholle in the last few months.

And then Scholle kisses him, hard and desperate, pushes him down onto the ground and climbs on top of him. "I need you." He says, his voice thick with desire. "Now."

It's too much and not enough and Till is absolutely powerless to refuse him.

-

He had intended to get Till back into bed, lay him out and take care of him, prove to the stubborn idiot that he isn't going anywhere without him again. Refuse to let him close off and shutter away to ruminate in whatever 'I'm not good enough' flavoured idiocy is rattling around in that thick skull of his. Till is just so nice, to a fault, to his own detriment sometimes and whatever it is that's hurting him, scaring him, he'll keep to himself so he doesn't become an inconvenience, and that's just stupid. 

Maybe he isn't angry with him for leaving then, maybe he is and just doesn't want to say it. That seems more likely, Till would carry on being silently heartbroken and angry for the rest of his life if it meant keeping some sort of peace and Scholle just wants to show him how wrong he is. But somewhere between heated, feverish kisses and sure, deliberate touches, he had rather lost his way. 

There's dirt under his fingernails as his hands scrabble at the ground either side of Till's head. A smear of it cuts across Till's cheek where he had touched him without realising. Weirdly, it suits him as he cries and moans as Scholle fucks him without mercy, he looks rugged and utterly beautiful like that. He claws at Scholle's shoulder blades with his fingernails, his strong thighs squeeze at his sides and it's so overwhelming. 

Scholle finishes first, it takes him by surprise, the waves creeping up on him and seizing him so suddenly he can barely breathe from the force of it. When he opens his eyes again Till is watching him impatiently. He strokes himself lazily as he gazes up at Scholle, he's so enticing splayed out on the ground like that. Scholle smacks his hand away and strokes him lightly, with nowhere near enough pressure to be effective, just to watch him squirm. 

And squirm he does, and whine, and plead. He's trembling now that the sweat on his skin is cooling, goosebumps cover his arms. Scholle leans down and blows a stream of air across his stomach just to watch him twitch, his nipples hardening at the slightest brush of cool air. He's so sensitive when he's desperate. He takes pity and tightens his hand, stroking him and letting him buck up into his curled fingers. He's so enamoured watching the way his body moves that he almost misses the breathless whisper of _Richard_ when he comes.

Oh. 

He surges forwards and kisses him, steals his air and bites at his lips until he's pushing him away just so that he can gulp in heavy breaths. "What was that for?" 

"Can we not kiss after we fuck now?" 

"That isn't what I meant and you know it." Till rests his forearm over his eyes as his heaving chest calms somewhat. There's the smallest hint of a grimace playing at the corner of his mouth but it's gone again almost as quickly as it arrived.

"I need a shower after that." He says mildly and hauls himself out from underneath Scholle and up to his feet. The cold and confusion Scholle feels is swift and sudden, he doesn't think he's done something wrong but at the same time it feels like he has. Till's already into the house before he can react and scramble to his feet. Gathering the blanket they were laying on and their discarded clothes, he hurries after Till. 

"Wait for me!" 

When he gets no response he tries again. "Till, wait!" 

The breath is knocked out of him when Till whirls around and traps him against the nearest wall, pinning him in place not so much with the firm hands on his chest but the fire in his eyes. It's difficult to tell what sort of worked up he is, but Scholle has never been anything but defiant and so he tilts his chin upwards.

Till's mouth twitches. "Do you not trust me anymore?" He says in a low voice. 

Scholle swallows, a little blindsided. "What do you mean?"

The pressure on his chest increases as Till pushes harder. "I barely feel like I know you these days." 

That doesn't feel right, Till knows him better than anyone, he always has done. He struggles against Till's hold, this doesn't feel like a conversation to have naked in the hallway. Till shoves him back against the wall. 

"Get off me. I just want to put some clothes on." He snaps. Till at least sees the sense in that and lets him go. He immediately storms off towards the bedroom to find clean clothes and to sit on the edge of the bed and breathe. What the fuck is going on in that head, to go from talking to fucking to terrifying him with what sounds like break up speech in no time at all? 

Till appears then, in the boxers and sweater he was wearing before, he looks a little less riled up but he isn't anywhere close to calm. 

"What do you mean by you barely know me and do I not trust you? And why would you say that after I pour my heart out?" Scholle asks, it seems the most pressing question. If nobody gets him, Till gets him, or so he thought. He feels sick and it hurts to be accused like that after telling him everything.

Till's shoulders drop ever so slightly. "That's the first time you've really talked to me since you got back, and when I don't give you the reaction you want, you fuck me like I've upset you." He looks down. "I'm fed up of not knowing what's going on with you." 

Scholle can't help the scowl that forms on his face, when did all the emotional work become his responsibility? "And you couldn't have just asked me earlier? I've been back weeks, Till, you could have said something."

Till frowns. "And what should I have said? You went through hell, how could I demand anything from you? My being upset about it wasn't important." 

"Of course it's important! We're supposed to be partners, equals. If you're hurting, you're supposed to tell me." 

"That's a little hypocritical." Till replies quietly, shutting Scholle down. He looks at Till, leaning against the wall with his arms wrapped across his middle, the streak of mud is still on his cheek. His stomach twists unpleasantly, all of this is so very wrong. They were supposed to fuck and shower and have breakfast and laugh at themselves in the daylight.

"I don't understand where this has come from." He says honestly, feeling a little too raw. "Are you scared I'll leave again so you're trying to push me away? Because I don't know what else I can do to convince you that I won't."

Till doesn't say anything for a moment, his eyes still downcast. "I'm scared I'm holding you back." He mumbles so quietly Scholle almost misses it. "You came back almost a whole new person whom I didn't understand and you didn't talk to me. I don't want to get in your way." 

Scholle stares at him, is that what this is about? "For fuck's sake, Till." He gets up and goes to stand in front of him. "You're not in my way, you're at my side and my back, aren't you?" 

Till nods at that, so very earnestly. "Of course I am." 

Scholle puts a hand on his cheek and scratches at the dirt with a thumbnail. "Then what are you so worried about? And why are you so obsessed with what I call myself? Call me whatever you want."

Till shrugs awkwardly and takes a deep breath. "I'm worried I'll wake up and you'll be gone again because you'll realise I'm not enough for you. Calling you a stupid nickname seems childish now after eveything, but I didn't want to let it go, as though I could keep things the way they used to be and you won't leave."

He leans in and presses his forehead to Till's, needing to be close to him again. "Didn't I tell you that you fret too much? I'm not leaving you again." He pauses and presses a quick kiss to Till's mouth. "Does it help if I tell you I really, _really_ like it when you call me Richard?" 

Till smiles a little at that, finally. "I think I got that when you tried to suffocate me with kisses." He pauses. "Can we shower now? I really need to get to work."

 _Richard_ rather thinks they have quite a bit more to talk about but he supposes Till has a point and takes him by the hand to lead him towards the bathroom.

-

It seems mundane to be working after such a conversation as they had this morning. It feels a little bit like they've turned a corner and certainly not the corner Till was expecting them to take. It feels like a step forwards and it's left him reeling a little bit. He had been so sure that he was going to be left behind by Richard (and he really needs to get used to that name now, if he wants to he called that it's unfair to not do so) either through him just getting bored and leaving one day, or because he realises Till is holding him back. But he had been so insistent that Till was wrong in this assessment, that Till finds himself (mostly) believing him. He feels a little ridiculous for essentially having a tantrum over nothing but then emotions always seem a little more raw after sex and it just came out before he could stop himself. Perhaps working on their communication skills might be wise if they want this to work.

Hands around his waist make him jump, and the kiss to the back of his neck soothes him. 

"I thought you were practising." He says, putting the half finished basket down to press his hands over the ones on his stomach. 

"I did for a while, but I missed you." He sounds petulant and Till can imagine a pouty bottom lip. He wriggles his way around in the tight hold so that they're face to face. He then pushes his hands carefully into Richard's still slightly damp hair and kisses him. It's slow and soft and they're both smiling into it. A tiny sound escapes Richard's throat when they part and he chases Till's mouth as he moves back. 

"I really do have work to do." Till says, feeling apologetic. It's hard to say no when he's being this soft and sweet. "You could help me? Or bring your guitar and practise here." 

The way he lights up is entirely adorable. "Really?"

"Well if you're going to _miss_ me that much being inside." Till shrugs, teasing him lightly. He still hasn't let go of him through and strokes his fingers through his hair, watching his eyelashes flutter at the sensation. "I love you." He says softly, overcome with feeling. "I'm sorry for being a dick to you." 

Richard rolls his eyes. "I love you too, and I forgive you. Maybe remember the wall thing though, that was nice." 

And then he scampers off as though that wasn't an entirely unfair thing to say, Till watches him go with a fond smile and a shake of his head. He loses himself in his work for a little while and only really comes back to himself when he hears some familiar chords being played somewhere behind him. He turns and finds him beaming at him, playing some Deep Purple song. Till's heart flutters, he doesn't want to ever fall out with Richard again, not seriously anyway. He knows it's inevitable really but he wants their fights to be fights over what record to put on, and whose turn it is to wash the dishes. He wants to squabble over yesterday's socks left on the floor and then make up with more long, slow kisses and sex in interesting places. 

He gets very little done for the rest of the day, Richard is very distracting. "Last time you can practise here." He says as he pushes him up against the workshop wall. "And you're helping me tomorrow."

"Deal." Richard says breathlessly as he wraps his legs around Till's waist. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Communication is important
> 
> Recently I dislike most of my work, I have been close to a delete spree on a number of occasions. I sincerely hope this is not as terrible as I think it is.
> 
> kitthefox on tumblr


	5. Post Gig Comedowns and Questionable Car Rides

_Don't you want to make me over?_  
_Don't you feel that everything's a test?  
Want to disappear inside you  
Because that's home I feel the best._

_Temptation- Emigrate_

_\---_

It's a good gig and he's giddy and Richard's giddy and he's fairly sure they're getting on absolutely everybody's nerves. Since their scary conversation things have been easier between them, more open and less guarded. Till hadn't even realised just how difficult things had become and it seems like both of them are determined to not let anything get between them again. In their terms, that means that everyone who isn't one of them is exactly that, not one of them. They come as a pair and everyone knows it, which is pretty much why he suspects they're getting on a lot of nerves. He doesn't care.

Watching Richard play is a joy as ever, as is watching him flirt with him from the makeshift stage and listening to the arguments around him as to who it's directed at. It's not all aimed at him of course for decency's sake, but Till can't help but smirk when he recognises a particular move that's definitely been used on him once or twice. 

He heads over and catches him when he bounds off stage, wraps a hand around his wrist and drags him behind a wall so that he can kiss him with his guitar still hanging from his neck. Richard beams at him, sweaty and ecstatic.

"Was I good?" He asks with a smile that says he knows exactly how good he was. 

Till tells him anyway, his fingertips sliding across his damp skin. "Yes you were, you know you were." 

"I just like hearing you say it." Richard grins, pushing his guitar out of the way and pressing closer. He lifts his arms and wraps them around Till's neck, his sweaty chest sticks to Till's clothes. The guitar digs into him painfully but he holds him close anyway.

"You like hearing me say a lot of things." Till admonishes without really meaning it. 

"I like your voice, what can I say? Especially when you're saying nice things about me." His grin is impish and teasing, his eyes glittering.

"Alright." Till says with an upwards quirk of his eyebrows. "So should I write all my songs about you in future?" 

Richard settles into a serene smile at that. "I always wanted to be someone's muse." 

Where they not hiding in a dark corner behind a stage in a club, Till could have shown him for hours just how much of a muse he was. Instead he gives him an exasperated smile and lifts the guitar gently from his shoulders. He considers it to be his responsibility to cart guitars around for Richard. He always protests but he definitely likes it when he does, he always gives him this soft grateful little smile that makes his heart squeeze and his belly flip. Today is no exception, even as Till lays the guitar reverently in its case, Richard watches him with a smile that can only be described as syrupy. 

"You don't have to do that." He says like always, laying his hand on Till's forearm as he closes the case. He flicks the clasps closed and turns to face Richard again.

"Yes I do." He says simply and squeezes the hand on his arm. "You should put a shirt on." 

"Why? Worried people will look at me?" Richard grins at him, Till raises an eyebrow.

"You'll get cold." He trails his fingernails up a bare arm, considering it a victory when he elicits a full body shiver. "It's a bit late for me to be worried about people looking at you, isn't it?"

Richard laughs at that. "I suppose so. Honestly I have no idea where my shirt has gone, maybe you can keep me warm instead?" 

Till snorts, inelegant even to his own ears but amused and fond at the same time. "Has that line ever worked on anyone?"

"Nope." Richard replies gleefully. "Come on, put that somewhere safe then we can go and have fun."

"Are we not having fun now?" Till asks innocently as he stashes the case with what looks to be Paul's gear. Nobody would dare touch that on pain of death. 

Richard grins and steals a kiss from him. "Yes but there's someone I want to introduce you to. Come on." He takes Till's hand and drags him to the backstage area where a few people are mingling about. Till's stomach rolls unpleasantly, he hates meeting new people, especially Richard's sort of people. They're all so talented and musical and he's just himself no matter how much Richard talks him up. 

Richard makes a beeline for a very tall man, barely a man, more a boy really with a somewhat familiar face though Till can't place him. He lets go of Till's hand to exchange warm hugs with this person and then turns back to Till with a blinding smile. "Till, this is Oliver, Oliver this is Till." 

Till shakes his hand with a polite nod and finds himself smiling back when Oliver grins at him. 

"Ah so you're Till. I feel as though I know you already." 

Till feels very wrong footed. "Um, have we met?" He hopes not, he hates to appear rude. 

Oliver seems to take pity on him and shakes his head. "No but Richard never shuts up about you." 

Till blinks feeling his face heat up and silently giving thanks for dingy backstage lighting. Richard cuts through the slightly awkward silence with a tinkling laugh. "Oliver plays in a band too, I think we've seen them at some point." 

That's probably where Till recognises him from then, at this point it feels like Richard has dragged him to watch every single band in the East. From angry punk to the truly avant garde, he has stood and tried his absolute best to understand it all whilst Richard had enthused endlessly at his side. 

Richard is positively vibrating with excitement beside him right now, or perhaps he's shivering, he still hasn't found a shirt after all. Someone yells Oliver's name and he gracefully slopes off with an apologetic look and a promise to catch up later. Richard watches him go with a look Till thinks might be a little too dreamy.

"I think he should play bass." Richard says whilst Till frowns. 

"Will you ever accept anyone's musical decisions?" 

Richard stares at him. "Is this the first time we've met? Of course not, unless they happen to be correct decisions, which is rare." He pushes Till's jaw upwards with an index finger, making him shut his mouth and cutting off any rebuttal he might have made.

"I'm glad you see it my way." He says, his eyes glittering with mirth, knowing exactly how much of an arrogant little shit he's being and exactly how much Till likes it on him. "Come and buy me a drink, it's your turn."

It is absolutely not his turn but Till does as he's told and lets Richard drag him off to the bar. He's still shirtless, Till notes absently, it'll serve him right if he catches a cold.

(Till will look after him anyway.)

-

He has absolutely no idea whose place this is. The gig wound down ages ago and someone had suggested an after party at someone's place. It's a bit small and unpleasant and the beers are distressingly warm. The whole flat is too warm in fact and it actually makes him glad that he never found his shirt. The music is dire too, absolutely no dancing tonight which is why he's claimed the sofa with Paul and is guarding it viciously against anyone who might try and take it from him.

Paul clears his throat and narrows his eyes at Richard from two couch cushions over. "Are you two fighting again?" He asks, suspicion colouring his voice. 

Richard blinks at him, mystified. "No, why?" He glances over at Till who is approaching them having left for a few moments to catch up with a friend. He doesn't think he's upset him, he seemed pretty happy to meet Oliver after all. 

"He's calling you Richard, that's weird." Paul says and it sounds accusatory. It's a little disconcerting how invested Paul is in their relationship, but he supposes it's to be expected after the disastrous shovel talk that first weekend. Paul turns into an attack dog where the welfare of his friends is concerned.

Richard breathes out however, relieved he hasn't accidentally done something he didn't realise he'd done. "Oh that. I recently discovered I very much enjoy the way he says it so now he says it as often as possible." He grins. "Especially in bed, he can roll an R like nobody I've ever heard."

Paul groans. "Please spare me the gory details." Richard grins at him menacingly.

"What gory details?" Till asks when he flops down behind Richard who has shifted over to make room for him. He then immediately sprawls himself across the both of them. Till automatically winds an arm around his waist whilst Paul shoves his legs unceremoniously off his lap. Richard puts them right back there again.

"Nothing. Get off me, you're heavy." Paul grumbles.

"No, settle down and stop moaning." Richard tells him. Till's hands settle onto his bare sides and pull him back into a more comfortable position. He wasn't about to admit that he was getting slightly cold but Till's body heat is absolutely lovely in the way it's radiating through his clothes and seeping into Richard's veins. He could kiss him, if this wasn't a fairly public spot. Sitting on his lap can be explained away as drunken shenanigans but a kiss, not so much. Till apparently has no such reservations and nuzzles unashamedly into his shoulder.

A slap over the back of his head makes Richard jump and he looks up with a scowl. Flake regards them both with an unimpressed expression. "Move your legs so I can sit down." 

"You're a mean drunk." Richard grumbles but he moves his legs obediently, pointedly ignoring both Paul and Till who are laughing at him like children. 

"Perhaps you are just soft?" Flake asks as he wriggles into the now empty sofa space. Richard glares indignantly, the effect is ruined somewhat by the way Till is vibrating with laughter beneath him. Richard takes revenge by digging an elbow into his stomach.

"Stop laughing, you're supposed to be on my side." 

"Ow! Now who's being mean?" Till whines with a pout, rubbing the sore spot. "I am on your side." He looks so adorably put out that Richard softens and ruffles his hair. 

"I know you are." He smiles. It feels like an oddly intimate thing to say, as though everything around them has suddenly disappeared. Till smiles back. He could _definitely_ kiss him.

The sharp kick to the shin he receives entirely ruins his mood and he's only stopped from launching himself at Paul by Till's arms anchoring him firmly in place. 

"Stop winding each other up." Till tells him very close to his ear. Richard glares, very much hating being told off but then Till's teeth nip his earlobe teasingly and so swiftly he isn't sure if he imagined it. He tries not to shiver and clamps his teeth closed around the sound that threatens to escape him. Till soothes the spot he bit with the lightest of licks before settling against the back of the sofa with a small smile on his face. 

Like shadows at night, discomfort creeps up on Richard quietly and without him really noticing. He feels strange and out of sorts and like he's being watched. He glances up, Paul and Flake are busy arguing over something he doesn't quite understand. Till is watching him, but then Till is always watching him and watching out for him. If he's felt the way Richard has tensed up he very carefully doesn't show it but there is the barest touch of concern pulling his smile into a frown. The pressure from his hands on Richard's sides increases just slightly, Richard tries to ground himself in the feeling of his rough skin against the smoothness of his own abdomen. It doesn't really work. Fuck, suddenly he doesn't want to be here, he wants to leave and be alone with Till. Go for a walk, go home, do anything but be here in this space that suddenly seems far too small. 

"Can we go outside for a bit?" He mumbles, hoping Till doesn't make a big deal out of it.

He doesn't, he just nods and tugs a jacket up and over Richard's shoulders. It smells like Till, he hadn't even noticed he was wearing one. Richard buries his nose into the collar as he moves almost automatically behind Till, too preoccupied with anxious foreboding and the smell of firewood and cut grass and something deeper and spicier that he can't quite place. It smells like his bed and his home and Till's skin when he presses his face into his neck. 

"Are you alright?" Till asks him as he sits him down on a wall round the side of the building. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." He sounds upset, Richard doesn't want that. 

He breathes in and exhales slowly, being outside is nice. "Give me a few minutes." He says. "I just need to breathe."

-

Till hovers awkwardly, feeling incredibly guilty and trying not to panic himself. He hadn't meant to cause this, he just wanted to be affectionate and teasing, casually playful the way other couples are. He'd thought with Richard on his lap it would be okay but the way his eyes had darkened and his body had tensed protectively, apparently not. 

Richard seems less tense now, he looks at Till with a small smile. Till chews on his lip, Richard reaches across and pulls it out from under his teeth with a thumb. 

"I'm sorry." Till says again quietly. Richard frowns at him.

"What for?" 

Till hesitates for a beat, he doesn't know how to say it without sounding incredibly needy. "I don't know, the cuddling and...stuff." He waves his hand about vaguely, hoping that Richard will understand. 

He elbows him in the side. "Why would you be sorry for that?"

Till rubs his side absently, he's going to be incredibly bruised in the morning. "Well… that's what upset you isn't it?"

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Richard go to elbow him again but Till stands swiftly and moves out of his reach. "Stop attacking me!" 

Richard smirks at him. "Softie." He runs a hand through his messy hair, fingers snagging on a tangle or two. "It wasn't you, Paul getting on my nerves, too many people in too small a place." He shrugs and it looks self conscious. "Felt trapped."

Till's heart squeezes unpleasantly, and with it comes a surge of protectiveness so strong it takes him by surprise. With a soft sigh he sits back down next to him and nudges him in what he hopes is a supportive manner, just to show he's there. Instead Richard pouts at him.

"Why are you allowed to do it but I'm not?"

Till pulls a face. "That was a gentle nudge, you could have someone's eye out with your elbows. I'm going to be bruised tomorrow." 

Richard's look turns utterly mischievous, which whilst better than the earlier nervousness is very unnerving. Till just about leaps to his feet before another elbow can catch him in the ribs. 

"You're a menace." He grumbles, folding his arms across his chest. It's a bit cold now that they're just standing about outside, especially after sacrificing his nice, warm jacket for his idiotic shirtless boyfriend. 

"What's that over there?" Richard says suddenly, pointing into the darkness behind Till. 

Till frowns and turns around, but sees nothing. "What?" He tries to ask but he's cut off when Richard leaps onto his back, giggling and nuzzling into his neck. Till staggers from the sudden additional weight but manages to right himself in time to stop them from clattering to the ground, but it's a very close thing.

"Fucking menace." He repeats, hooking his hands under Richard's thighs anyway. Richard in turn tightens his arms around Till's neck. "I'm not carrying you home." Till tells him, trying to squirm away from Richard's sharp teeth nipping at his ear. 

"Just to the car then?" Richard asks sweetly, ceasing his biting and pressing kisses up the side of Till's neck. "You can drive us home can't you?" 

"Well I'm not sleeping in the car." Till hoists Richard slightly further up his back and starts walking back towards where he left his car. It's a quiet night, there are only a few people still about and none of them really pay any attention to two boys playing around.

Richard squeezes Till with his thighs. "Mm no, bit cramped." He pauses. "Have you ever fucked anyone in your car?" 

"Why do you want to know that?" Till asks a little warily. 

Richard chuckles. "It's not a test, I'm aware you fucked other people before me." 

Against his better judgement, Till nods. "Then yes." He feels Richard go a little tense against his back and he rolls his eyes as he continues his slow walk. Well he did ask.

To his surprise however, Richard just does a little shrugging gesture with his hands in front of Till's face. "Oh well, I'll have to fuck you in it then to stake my claim."

A jolt of hot anticipation hits Till's belly at Richard's words, he swallows. "Could ride me?" He suggests quietly and he swears he feels Richard's dick twitch. 

"What was that?" Richard is back close to his ear, lips grazing the outer shell as he speaks. Till shudders and readjusts his grip. 

"I said, you could ride me." He says a little louder, feeling somewhat embarrassed at the way his voice cracks. Richard tightens his grip on his hips with his legs and that's definitely his dick Till can feel. 

"Why can't you ride me?" He asks whilst Till's mouth goes dry. 

"My car, my rules?" He offers weakly getting an amused giggle in response. 

"How about I just suck you off from the passenger seat and we call it even?" 

How Richard can say such things so casually, Till will never know. He's so taken aback by the suggestion and by the way heat is coiling in his belly that he takes too long to answer. Richard just hums and settles against his back, resting his chin on Till's shoulder and drawing squiggles on his chest with his fingertips. 

"Maybe we should live round here instead." He says quietly and a little dreamily. "Then we wouldn't have to worry about getting home all the time." He sighs. "It's just a thought, Till, don't worry." 

Till worries, quite a lot. 

-

Driving is difficult with Richard's head in his lap, his hot mouth fully occupied and Till swears he can feel him grinning around his dick. He should tell him to stop, he should push him away but all of his focus is on not crashing whilst getting a reasonably risky blowjob. He squirms, Richard's hands hold him down in his seat.

"Fuck, Rich, you have to stop." He has to gasp, clutching the wheel so hard he's worried he might break it. 

Richard does, lifting his head up with a wet grin and flushed cheeks. "Why don't you stop?" He purrs.

"I'm not doing anything." Till says, confused, glancing sideways at him. "I'm just trying to get us back in one piece."

"Till." Richard says slowly, as though he thinks him incredibly dense. "Pull over."

Till manages to prevent his brain from short circuiting long enough to stop somewhere dark and quiet. He just about pushes his seat back in time to cope with the lapful of Richard he suddenly has. They kiss frantically, a clash of teeth and tongue, as determined hands undo buttons and shove layers out of the way. 

Richard pushes two of his fingers into Till's mouth, his eyes hooded and dark. Till wraps his tongue around them, wets them as much as he can and then watches open mouthed and breathless as Richard works himself open with those fingers. Tiny, desperate moans spill from his lips getting louder as Till leans up and licks at his neck, bites at his jaw and pulls his head down so he can kiss him again. He blindly reaches for Richard's dick and strokes him firmly as he twitches and rocks ever so slightly on his lap. 

Their kisses become less and less coordinated as Richard appears to be getting close to comin; with what appears to be a great deal of willpower he pushes Till's hand from his dick and spits in his palm. Till slicks himself up, not quickly enough for Richard it seems as he grumbles impatiently and manoeuvres himself into position. Till leaves his hand in place and holds his breath as Richard lowers himself maddeningly slowly downwards until he's fully seated. Till holds him by the hips and groans, long and low, when he starts to move. 

It isn't the most comfortable fuck he's ever had but it's one of the best. Richard is beautiful in the low light, his body damp with sweat and his face open and slack with pleasure. He kisses Till with a desperation that leaves him moaning Richard's name when they separate to breathe. 

Richard laughs breathlessly and puts his hand on his cock, he strokes himself in time to the rise and fall of his body. Till feels like he's just being dragged along for the ride, quite literally. 

When Richard's rhythm falters, he bucks upwards pulling a startled moan from him. Till grins, pleased to have wrestled back some control. Richard isn't having any of it and presses his hands against Till's chest, pushing him back into the seat. 

"Touch me." He demands, knocking his forehead against Till's. Till obeys, stroking him and groaning along with the ruthless clenching of his body as he gets closer and closer to the edge. His body stills, but Till doesn't mind, he just wants to see him fall apart. 

Richard whimpers; a sweet, quiet noise that becomes a gasp of Till's name as he comes with his hands clutching Till's shoulders and his eyes screwed shut. Till drags it out, moving his hand and rocking his hips upwards, chasing his own orgasm even as Richard whines from the overstimulation. His hot, shivering body slumps against Till's chest while Till fucks him. He begins to bite and lick at Till's sweaty skin and somehow a particularly vicious bite is what seals it for Till. He comes hard, unable to think or speak or do anything apart from feel Richard helping him along by gently rolling his body. 

When he comes back to himself Richard is nuzzling softly into his neck, murmuring sweetly to him and trailing his fingers through Till's damp chest hair.

"Going to get off me?" Till whispers, turning his head just enough to kiss somewhere behind Richard's ear.

"In a minute." Richard protests stubbornly.

Where they at home, Till would happily let him stay for hours, but they're not so he nudges Richard gently. "We're still in my car, Rich."

"Ugh fine!" Richard complains and climbs off Till, throwing himself into the passenger seat. He retrieves an abandoned jacket from the footwell and uses it to clean up, Till settles for wiping his hand on his top, he can always wash it later. 

They sit quietly for a minute or two, their breathing the only sound as they calm down again. Richard takes two cigarettes out of his pocket, puts both between his lips and lights them then passes one to Till. "So car sex is fun." He says with an audible smile, Till huffs in reply but is equally amused. 

"Except I've still got to get us home and my legs are shaking." He says, breathing smoke through an open window. 

Richard turns to grin at him. "That good was it? Do you want me to drive?"

Till recoils, somewhat horrified. "Absolutely not." Richard just laughs at him, the smug little bastard. 

When they've finished their cigarettes and shared a last soft, lingering kiss, Till manages to get them home with no further incidents. Richard had sat quietly with his eyes closed and a pleased smile on his face, Till thought he had fallen asleep though he vehemently denied it when questioned.

They stagger to bed, tired and sated and curled around each other, resolutely ignoring the sun peeking up from behind the horizon for at least a few hours. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel as though I should apologise for an entire update where nothing happens apart from soft silliness and sex?
> 
> Also yeah I forgot to change to Richard at the end there, I'll make up for it next time.


	6. Falling out and Falling In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclaimer: I'm sorry?

_I feel it on the inside  
Chewing up and spitting out  
Another me, another you  
Are we the same? _

_You see when mirrors don't reflect you?_

_Hide and seek_  
_Where's the light we need?  
Everybody's inside out  
Just slipping and slipping and slipping away._

_Hide and Seek - Emigrate_

_\---_

The thing is, there's something to the idea of living closer to where the action is, Richard thinks as he idly prods at his bread dough. It won't be the best bread ever but it will be warm and edible when it's done. Making it is giving him time to think anyway, and the more he thinks about it, the more he likes the idea. If they lived closer, gigs would be easier, more frequent. It would be easier to get noticed, to make it big. He's sure they could find somewhere decent enough to live for a while, it wouldn't have to be fancy. And having spoken to their friends who already live there, he knows someone will let them stay for a few days if need be.

Gathering the dough, he drops it into a bread tin to rise for a bit and watches Till out the window as he chops firewood. It's a very nice view to admire from one's kitchen window and he looks like he belongs there. That's going to be the challenge, getting Till to understand and to come with him. Richard sighs, he can't possibly do this without Till and yet Till is definitely going to panic and say he can't possibly do it at all. That said, despite everything, Till does want what he wants, he's just one of life's worriers.

He throws a cloth over the dough and puts it aside, it needs all the time it can get after all. With another sigh, he decides to go outside and join Till for a while. Perhaps he can find something else helpful to do whilst he waits for his dough. On a whim he grabs some water and takes it with him, it wouldn't hurt to do a nice thing or two before dropping the big question he supposes. 

Till pauses and smiles at him when he sees him, rubbing the sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist. Richard holds the water out to him and when he comes closer to take it, Richard hooks an arm around his neck and pecks him on the lips with a grin. 

"Hello you." Till says, returning Richard's grin with a soft smile. He drains the water in a few gulps, resting his axe against the wall. "I don't suppose you fancy taking over do you?" He rolls his shoulders and grimaces.

"Can't." Richard replies, fluttering his eyelashes to disguise his blatant staring at the way Till's body moves. "Making bread." Doing nice things does not extend to too much manual labour.

Till narrows his eyes. "You're making bread right now?"

"Well, no, it's proving."

"Then why can't you help me?" 

"Something might go wrong." Richard offers with his most winning smile, Till doesn't look any less suspicious.

"Something might go wrong? Whilst it's proving?"

Richard huffs. "I'm making you food and I brought you water, what more do you want?"

Till raises an eyebrow. "For you to help me? And you're making bread, that doesn't count."

"Well if it doesn't count, no bread for you." Richard pouts, folding his arms. 

"Don't be like that." Till says with a grin. He takes hold of Richard's arm and pulls him into a hug which would be nice except that he's all hot and sweaty. Richard struggles against his hold but Till squeezes him tighter. 

"Get off me, you're disgusting." Richard complains, pushing at Till until he relents and releases him. He stands there, watching Richard with a smug look on his face.

"Might as well help me now, since you're just as disgusting." He says innocently, all wide eyed and mischievous, Richard glares at him. 

"I hate you." He grumbles, even though he absolutely doesn't. He is entirely powerless to resist that pleading look so he gives in with a sigh. "Fine, what do you need?" 

"Just help me move all this." Till kicks at the pile of wood with one foot. "We'll be done in no time if we both do it." 

Between them it really doesn't take all that long to shift, and he does get the added bonus of watching Till lift heavy things which is one of life's little pleasures in Richard's mind. Before long they're sprawled out on the grass, the smell of baking bread and wood shavings surrounding them. It's peaceful and homey but Richard just feels wistful and nervous. 

"Till?" He says quietly, hearing the rustle of grass as he turns to look at him. He takes a deep breath. "I think I want to move." 

"Getting cold?" Till teases, reaching out and trailing his fingertips over Richard's stomach. 

"No. I mean… live somewhere else." 

Till stills. "I knew it wasn't just an idea." He says and for a minute Richard is confused but then he remembers dreaming suggesting that night. There's an edge to Till's voice that Richard doesn't like, defensive and like he's expecting to get hurt, which is just ridiculous. Richard is utterly convinced that it's the right thing to do if they want to make it in a band, he's thought about it for days and it's the only way. He can't keep letting Feeling B have all the fun. 

"If we lived in the city we could play far more gigs, together, you and me." It feels very important to emphasise that it will be a joint venture somehow.

Till sits up and looks over at him suspiciously. Grass is sticking to his back and Richard resists the urge to sweep it away. "The city? What do you mean the city?"

Richard swallows. "Near Paul and Flake?" He tries, hoping that mentioning them will make the idea more palatable. It doesn't.

"Are you serious? _Berlin?_ "

That makes Richard wince but he ploughs on. "Yes? It's where we need to be if we want to make it work."

Till stares at him. "Oh great plan, just one small problem, how does my child fit in?" His voice is low, cold. Richard hadn't thought about that and Till knows it. Fuck. 

He panics. "Well… she could… weekends?" It's the wrong thing to say and he knows it's the wrong thing to say when Till shuts him out. His eyes go steely and his posture turns defensive and before Richard can try and backtrack he's up and into the house, slamming the door behind him. 

Richard scrambles to his feet and hurries after him, feeling a tremendous sense of deja vu. This isn't quite how he wanted this to go.

-

He finds Till in the bedroom, sat against the headboard and smoking moodily. Richard swallows and knocks on the door frame, Till doesn't even acknowledge him.

"Till, please just hear me out." He says quietly, placidly, begging him to listen. When Till doesn't respond he decides to forge ahead. "If we stay here, we'll always have to plan gigs around getting home or find someone's sofa to crash on and we'll keep having to spend the extra money on fuel for travelling. If we live there, we won't have to do that. I talked to Oliver and Schneider, we can stay with them until we find our own place, they have room." He takes a breath, having not really breathed through his speech.

Till taps ash into a glass ashtray sat on the bed sheets. "And what if I don't want to?" He sniffs, sounding dismissive.

"Come on, I need you, Till. I can't do it without you." Richard moves closer, slowly, as though approaching a wild and wounded animal. "You and me, we could do anything." He says softly, pleading with him, appealing to the side of Till that would do absolutely anything for those he loves. 

Till never can stay angry at him for long, Richard knows him far too well to think otherwise and he spots the exact moment when the desire to fight leaves him. When it happens, he crosses the room in three strides, throws himself on the bed and into Till's arms. 

"I can't." Till says quietly, hiding his face in the crook of Richard's neck.

"You can. We could find somewhere with enough room for the three of us." Richard insists, determined now. "We find somewhere near a good school, I'll sleep on the fucking floor if I have to." 

Till pulls out of their embrace and looks at him, the anger in his eyes now completely replaced by something softer, clouded over with worry and upset. "I _can't."_ He repeats. "I've got work and responsibilities, I can't just drop everything like that." 

"Find work there, people still need baskets in cities." 

Till raises an eyebrow at him and Richard has to concede that that probably is a bit of a stretch. "Alright maybe not but you can fix things, build things?"

Slowly he starts to look as though he's at least considering the idea, the faintest touch of interest coming to life behind his eyes. Richard fights back the giddiness he feels at not being flat out rejected, it wouldn't do to come on too strongly and spook him again. "See, it's not that wild an idea. Do that during the day and sing at night, easy!" 

And then abject horror floods Till's expression and Richard cringes. "Sing?!" 

"Yes, sing. Music and sex remember? The deal was you write for me and sing for me alongside all the sex." Richard says in his calmest voice.

"I didn't think you meant it! I thought you were just high from fucking!" 

Richard closes his eyes for a moment, trying very hard to not let the frustration show on his face. He knows he's done a poor job of it when he feels Till shrink away from him and hears the bed sheets move as he shuffles back again. He opens his eyes and finds Till watching him sadly. 

"I can't." He says for the third time and for the third time Richard doesn't believe him, he absolutely can. He struggles to reconcile Till, sweet, kind, built like a tank, voice of an angel Till with his distressingly low opinion of himself at the best of times. 

He shakes his head. "You can. I know it's scary but just think about it, we could be rockstars, live the dream."

"Your dream." Till mumbles so very quietly but it still stings like a slap across the face. 

"What?" Richard is so blindsided he can't really think of anything else to say. It was their dream, wasn't it? Something they both want, otherwise why would Till have shown him his writing, let him drag him to rehearsals and play in bands with him? Richard feels sick, surely he hadn't been so self centred that he had gotten everything so very wrong. 

Till closes his eyes as though he can't bear to look at him and it _hurts._ "It's your dream, Richard. It was never mine." He pauses to swallow, Richard watches the movement of his throat without really seeing it. "You go." Till says. "If it's what you need to do." 

The lump in Richard's throat forms suddenly and he feels as though he could choke on it. The idyllic existence he's carved for himself even after so much pain in such a short time feels like it's cracking apart and on the verge of shattering. All of his dreams, _all of them_ feature both of them, together. 

"So what if I do leave?" He snaps, his hurt bubbling out of him in a bitter eruption. "You're just going to stay here for the rest of your life? Hiding in your workshop? Wasting your voice?"

"There's nothing to waste." Till says calmly, looking down, Richard wants to shake him. 

The smell of burning permeates the room and they both squint at each other, argument briefly forgotten in their confusion. "Fucking bread." Richard growls when he remembers what he had been doing and sprints to the kitchen before it's completely ruined. They do not have the luxury of wasting things, despite what Till might think.

It seems so trivial in the grand scheme of things to be so concerned with bread, but it's fairly grounding to go through the motions as he leaves it on a rack to cool. The edges caught a little, but it will be alright on the whole. Unlike him and Till apparently, he thinks bitterly as he stands motionless, watching steam rise and dissipate. 

"Richard?" Till's quiet voice cuts through his turmoil but he can't bring himself to turn around. He hears Till shuffle forwards and feels his arms encircle him from behind, hugging him close, burrowing into his hair. Richard inhales shakily and it sounds more like a sob than anything, even to his own ears. Till turns him around before the sound has finished leaving him and Richard throws his arms around him in return, Till's hug tightens and they stand there in the kitchen for far too long, clinging to each other desperately.

-

Till is on the verge of hysteria, or at least it feels like he is. He always rather knew he would get in Richard's way, he just didn't expect it to come quite so soon, and so absolutely out of nowhere. He shifts in place, careful not to disturb Richard, currently laying on the bed beside him, head on his chest and arm anchored around his waist. Till thinks he's fallen asleep, he hopes he's fallen asleep; helped along by Till's fingers stroking through his hair. If he's asleep he doesn't have to witness Till's unbearable turmoil.

No such luck, or if he was asleep it was the lightest of naps. He lifts his head and blinks slowly at Till, squeezing him with the arm round his middle. He looks exhausted, Till wants to tell him to put his head back down, wants to wrap him up and keep him here and warm and safe. But then, that's the problem isn't it? That isn't what Richard wants and now it's out in the open, it's never going to go away. 

With shaking fingers he brushes a lock of hair back from Richard's face, tucks it behind his ear carefully. Richard turns his head just enough to press a kiss into his palm and it shoots right to his heart. He knows Richard thinks he's just being stubborn, ridiculous even but Richard is so much braver than he is, and far more determined.

Richard moves silently and rests his head on the pillow next to Till, he reaches out to pull Till towards him, enough so that he can lean in and kiss him ever so gently. Till squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn't have to look at him. Richard scoots even closer to him and tangles their legs together, they're so close they're sharing air. 

"Please come with me." Richard doesn't so much say it as breathes it against Till's lips, it's so desperate and pleading it breaks Till's heart. "I need you." 

Till doesn't know how to explain to him how wrong he is, for all supposed prowess at writing he can't articulate himself so he just shakes his head. Richard gazes at him, sad and frustrated.

"But you haven't given me a reason why." His lifts his hand and trails his fingertips across Till's throat. "This… this shouldn't be hidden away, nor should this." He continues as his hand drifts upwards, he taps the side of Till's head. "You're so good, Till, I don't know how you don't see it."

Trying to distract him, Till knocks their foreheads together and tells him in a lightly teasing voice. "You have to say that, you're my… you." 

It works for a little while, Richard snorts. "I'm your me? How very romantic, maybe I'm wrong about your songs after all. Next you'll be telling me you've got a ghost writer."

Till nods solemnly, a contrite expression on his face. "Little old lady down the road, she's very dark."

Richard laughs at that and it's silvery and light, far preferable to his earlier sadness. "Oh I see, I can't believe you've been lying to me all this time." 

Unable to help himself, Till leans in and kisses him, smiling against his mouth. "I'm sorry, forgive me?" The gentle teasing feels like much safer ground and he leans into it. 

"I might do." Richard tells him, nosing at Till's cheek and kissing along his jaw. He nips at Till's ear and he shudders.

"What do I have to do?" Till murmurs as he pulls Richard's body closer. 

Richard licks at his neck. "Come with me." He purrs and it's like a bucket of cold water has been thrown over Till, he pulls away from Richard and gets up off the bed, ignoring Richard's hands reaching for him and his pleas for him to stay where he is.

"Stop it." He snaps, scooping a shirt off the floor and struggling his way into it. "If you want to go, I won't stop you, but I'm not going with you." 

He watches as several emotions flicker across Richard's face; shock, hurt and anger in quick succession, the anger sticks around. "You won't stop me? I didn't realise I needed your permission." 

Till rolls his eyes. "Of course you don't need my permission, you're an adult." 

"Wow, thank you." Richard replies bitterly, getting to his feet and glaring at Till. "So very kind of you to say so." He stalks over to a chest of drawers and Till watches in a detached sort of way as he starts throwing things into a nearby backpack.

"What are you doing?" He asks when it filters through that he really should put a stop to this before it spirals too far.

Richard scowls. "What the fuck does it look like? If you're so desperate for me to go, I'm going."

It feels a little bit like all the air has gone from the room, Till can't breathe. "That isn't what I meant." He tries desperately, his hands twitching at his sides as he stops himself from reaching out and pulling Richard to him. 

"Well what did you mean then?" Richard demands, whirling round on the spot with socks in his hands. He gestures wildly at the guitar in the corner. "This is what I want, Till. I want to play music and I can't make a career out of it here." Throwing the socks into the bag he takes a shuddering breath. "I want you to come with me, I think you want this too." 

Till is well aware he's supposed to say yes, alright, he'll go. He's supposed to apologise for being stubborn and he's supposed to gather his boyfriend in his arms and spend hours begging forgiveness in all sorts of fun and creative ways. But he doesn't do that, because Richard is so very wrong about him, he isn't good nor is he meant for the stage, not like him. 

"Till, please." Richard begs, sounding like he's the one on the verge of hysteria now. Something shifts in Till's head, a wave of nausea crashes over him. 

"Richard, we're not breaking up, are we?" 

"I don't know, are we?" Richard sniffs, looking terrified. 

"For fuck's sake, no of course not." He might not quite be able to be brave, but he can damn well be selfish, Till thinks as he crosses the room and gathers his boyfriend in his arms. That bit he can do at least. "It's Berlin, not the other side of the world, I'll come to every show, and when you need a break from the city, we'll be here." 

Richard doesn't really react, apart from to sniffle again so Till walks him slowly and carefully back to the bed, and sits him down on top of the sheets. When he tries to move away again, Richard reaches for him, his hands tugging at Till's sleeve. "Alright, hang on." Till soothes and climbs onto the bed behind Richard who immediately falls back into his arms. 

-

 _"I don't know, are we?"_ Richard asks while his throat feels like it's closing up around the bitter taste of his fear.

 _Please say no, please say no_ repeats in his head like a warning siren as they watch each other. _Fine be stupid and stubborn if you must but please say no, please just say no._

"For fuck's sake, no of course not." Is what Till says and the wave of relief is so overwhelming Richard is sure he would have fallen over if Till hadn't accompanied his words with a crushing hug. He's saying something about it not being the other side of the world but Richard isn't really listening anymore, and he doesn't think he can respond. Presently he isn't sure if moving for music is worth it, a tiny part of him starts to wonder if this relationship is worth it, but that feels treacherous and unfair. Especially when Till moves him so very carefully back to the bed and sits him down as though he's handling the most precious of things. 

Richard is jolted into action when Till moves away from him, tangling his fingers into the fabric of his top and pulling him back down. 

"Alright, hang on." Till says gently, climbing up the bed behind Richard and tugging him backwards. Richard falls into his embrace and the welcoming warmth. 

"I don't know what to do." Richard whispers into Till's shoulder. He had been so sure just an hour ago of how things would be, the shock of Till turning him down and his underestimation at just how little Till thinks of himself now wearing on him. "I thought we would do this together, I know I didn't think about her to begin with and I'm so sorry, but we could make it work but you just don't want to." 

He feels Till sigh underneath him. "I know you think I'm being difficult, and it's as easy as just doing it, but it's not that simple. I'm terrified of doing what you want me to do."

"But I would be there with you, you would be okay." Richard insists. "I wouldn't let anything happen." 

Till shakes his head. The argument is becoming circular, they are getting absolutely nowhere apart from deeper and deeper into emotions neither of them really know how to deal with. 

When he was younger, Richard's grand plans involved his guitar and maybe a beautiful thing on his arm. Nothing else mattered as much as the music did though until Till caught his eye and his entire world condensed down to the beautiful being currently lying beneath him. And then he discovered he could sing and write and the world opened up again, possibilities Richard had never considered before dancing tantalisingly in front of him before being bludgeoned quite violently. He finds himself wanting to do the same to anyone who ever contributed to Till thinking he isn't good enough. 

He probably hasn't helped by assuming that Till would just get over it if he asked him nicely enough. He grits his teeth, never let it be said that he isn't resourceful, he just needs a new plan of attack. 

"I'm sorry." He says, lifting himself up onto his elbows. "Forget about it for now."

Till blinks at him, looking confused and worried. "But we haven't sorted things out…" 

Richard cuts him off by kissing him, slipping his tongue into his mouth for extra shutting up power. He turns slightly without pulling his mouth away, presses himself fully against Till and rolls his hips minutely against Till's side. When they do separate, Till's eyes are wide and glassy, his parted lips delightfully wet and pink and his skin flushed. Richard smiles wolfishly at him but Till is an idiot and tries to talk again. 

A hand slapped over his mouth silences him, Richard takes advantage of his momentary surprise to shift on top of him, straddling him with his thighs either side of his hips. 

"Hush now." He coos softly. "No more talking." He moves his hand and Till disobeys.

"You don't have to fuck me just because we argued." He says, not quite meeting Richard's eyes. 

Richard grins, showing his teeth. "I'm sorry, I wasn't listening, all I heard was 'fuck me.'" 

Till's chest twitches as he inhales sharply at Richard's words, Richard makes it worse by pushing his hands slowly under Till's shirt, feeling his skin and his muscles and his wiry hair. "I don't know why you bothered with this." He complains, tugging at the shirt from underneath. "To be honest I don't know why you ever bother with them, if it were up to me you would be banned from wearing shirts." 

Till blushes adorably and opens his mouth as though he's about to protest. 

"What did I say about talking?" Richard asks, pinching a nipple and making Till jolt and snap his mouth shut. "That's better." He smiles and gently ghosts his fingertips over the sensitive skin. Till whines quietly, his back arching ever so slightly but then his eyes widen and he bites his lip. 

"You can make noise." Richard tells him as he shifts backwards to give himself room to undo Till pants. "In fact I encourage it." He purrs as he ducks down and takes Till into his mouth with no preamble.

He goes slow with him, fucks him like they've got all the time in the world, bites and licks at every inch of skin he can reach until they are both panting, shivering, sticky messes wrapped up in each other. 

"I love you." Richard murmurs into the sweaty skin of Till's neck. "And I'll love you when I'm in Berlin and I'll love you if you come with me or if you stay here." 

Till is quiet for a long time, so long that Richard thinks he's fallen asleep. 

"I'll think about it." He eventually replies. Richard smiles, after all it's a step up from "I can't" and he'll take every small victory he can get. 


	7. Breakdowns and Epiphanies

_If it's a secret I can keep it  
I won't tell a soul about it  
Make me happy and you can have me  
I'm the one to keep you honest._

_We connect  
Don't ever forget._

_Lead You On - Emigrate_

_\---_

Till shuts his front door. His house is quiet. No endless chatter about this song or that record, nobody pestering him or teasing him. Nobody dragging him to bed at really quite inopportune moments, not that he would ever complain about it. Drifting aimlessly through his house he spots little signs and reminders of Richard's presence; his coffee mug by the sink, the spot on the sofa he always claims with the wrinkled cushions, the last of the bread he'd made just before everything went to shit. Till sighs and pauses, staring into space.

In the end he had driven Richard and all his things to Berlin, dropped him off at his friends' place and left him there looking sad on the pavement a few days ago now. Not even a kiss goodbye, just a half wave and a promise that he would see him soon. With no idea how soon, Till had spent the drive back feeling adrift and by the time he had got home, his nerves were shot and his eyes watery. He'd held it together until he'd gone to bed and found his scent lingering everywhere.

He stands motionless for a couple of minutes, wondering exactly what he's supposed to do now. Going to bed always seems tempting, he has nothing better to do after all, but the sheets still smell like Richard and that's just going to hurt him even more.

He opts for sprawling on his sofa in silence, staring at the ceiling and wondering quite how this was his life before his blonde whirlwind arrived and flipped everything upside down. He smiles to himself, remembering the way Richard had stood in his kitchen, battered and bruised, and kissed him seemingly out of nowhere, and everything that had happened after that. He inhales shakily, fuck, he misses him so very badly and he's not even been gone a week. Till sighs and closes his eyes with no idea how he's going to cope with being apart from him this much. Maybe it's simple, he thinks as he drifts off, maybe he shouldn't be apart from him.

His phone rings, startling him unpleasantly out of his sleep and he narrows his eyes at it suspiciously. Nobody ever calls him, nobody has reason to, unless something terrible has happened to someone important. He throws himself at it and snatches the handset to his ear.

"Hello?"

_"I'm going to start charging for sorting out people's dramas you know."_

Till blinks. "Paul?" He notices through the window that it's gone dark outside, he must have been out longer than he had anticipated. 

_"Never mind that. Why is your drunk boyfriend on my sofa crying about you?"_

Till swallows. "He...what?"

Paul sighs, sounding rather annoyed on the other end of the line. _"Your annoying boyfriend is here going on about how he's fucked everything up."_ Paul pauses. _"So why is he here and you're not?"_

Sitting up and grabbing a cushion to hold for comfort, Till tries to think of an explanation that doesn't sound incredibly pathetic and won't result in Paul yelling at him. 

_"Still there?"_ Paul asks. Till can almost feel the eyeroll he just knows Paul is doing at his lack of response. 

"Yes." He replies quietly. "Is he alright?"

_"He's fine, just drunk and apparently very emotional. Seriously, why is he here without you? I didn't think it was possible for you two to be apart for more than half a second."_ Paul pauses. _"I swear if you've done something stupid I'm not talking to you again."_

Till scoffs at that, momentarily snapped out of his mood by the need to defend himself. "Why does it have to me that did something stupid?" 

_"But something stupid has happened?"_ Paul says, he sounds very sure of himself and Till scowls at him out of habit, despite the fact that he can't see him. _"Well?"_

Till sighs and flops back down on the sofa, shoving the cushion under his head. "He's moved out." 

_"What?!_

Till listens to the sound of shuffling about on the other end of the phone, then only catches half of a muffled conversation Paul has with someone, presumably Flake before returning to the phone. _"So go on, explain."_

"Is Flake listening?" Till asks suspiciously. 

_"Yes."_ Flake confirms, sounding slightly distant. 

"Wait, then who's looking after Richard?" Till needs to know, very worried that an emotional Richard has been left alone and he can't help but think that's a bad idea.

_"He's fine. Talk."_ Flake insists. 

Till considers the possibility of smothering himself with the cushion so he doesn't have to explain himself to his friends. Mostly though he's fighting an overwhelming desire to kick his car into action and to just go to Richard. (Simple, it's all very simple.) He realises he hasn't said anything for a couple of minutes when someone clears their throat so he explains as best he can. 

_"I'm not going to comment on your confidence problems."_ Flake begins when he's explained the entire situation.

_"I am! You're an idiot."_ Paul pipes up and then yelps after the sounding of someone shoving him. Till flinches in sympathy and waits whilst they scuffle on the other end of the phone. He lets his thoughts drift and glances at the clock on the wall, he could make it within a reasonable time if he left now. He takes a mental inventory and figures he can leave his current projects for a least a couple of days. But it feels very impulsive and wasn't that partly what was stopping him going with Richard in the first place?

His chest feels tight and he rubs at it to try and loosen the iron band clamped around his heart. And then over the sound of the ridiculous bickering he hears Richard's voice asking who they're talking to and he's up and grabbing his keys before he has time to think it through.

"I'm on my way." He says and puts the phone down with absolutely no idea if anyone heard him or not. He can worry about all of this later, he has a relationship and a future to sort out. 

-

Watching Till leave had left Richard utterly bereft and questioning whether he was making the right decision. He had stood on the pavement until the car had completely disappeared from sight and then stood there even longer than that afterwards. 

Till had offered to help him move his things into his new home but he had declined, unwilling to make a scene in front of his new flatmates. And he would have made a scene he has no doubt about that. 

They are very nice, Oliver and Schneider, and they're very welcoming and kind but this tiny room in this tiny flat has nothing on Till's warm, cosy home. He flops onto his new bed and immediately misses the bed that he shared with Till, so very comfortable, his one luxury. Till would struggle to fit on this bed on his own, never mind at Richard's side. 

He glances at his guitar and tells himself over and over again that it's worth it, being here is worth it. It doesn't really feel like it is at the moment and so he gets drunk, very drunk on his own and finds himself staggering in the general direction of Paul's place. Mostly because he knows how to get there and he hasn't bothered to learn how to get from a bar to his new place yet. 

He knocks on the door to the flat and leans on the door frame, waiting for it to open, and when it does he almost falls in. 

"Fuck's sake." Paul barks as he catches Richard before he hits the floor. "What are you doing here?" 

"Wanted to see my friends?" Richard mumbles and rights himself, pulling himself clumsily out of Paul's grip. 

"Right?" Paul doesn't seem convinced. "Where's Till?" 

"I left him behind." Richard sniffs, shoving past Paul and going to claim space on the tiny sofa. It reminds him of so many nights curling up on it with Till and his eyes sting. 

Paul shoves him over and sits next to him. "Sure make yourself at home, seriously, where is Till?" 

"Seriously, I left him at home. His home." Richard corrects and his lip wobbles. "I ruined everything." 

Paul frowns at him. "Okay you stay here for a minute." He pats Richard's leg and then wanders off leaving him alone to sniffle and hiccup. Falling sideways on the sofa he curls his legs up and wraps his arms around his knees, the space behind him isn't warm enough in the slightest. 

The room begins to spin so he closes his eyes against it, vaguely listening to what's going on around him. He remembers the first night they crashed here and he had been just about this drunk and refused to let go of Till, who had simply moved to accommodate him like he always does. Till always makes space for him so why can't he do it now? A nasty little voice in his head tells him how much of a spoiled brat he's being and he screws his eyes shut even further in the hope that he can drown it out. He never wanted to make Till uncomfortable, he only ever wanted to make him see how good he is. 

Paul and Flake appear to be fighting and it draws his attention, Flake's got the phone in his hand.

"Who're you calling?" Richard asks glumly, struggling to sit up again despite the world still spinning around him. He leans against the back of the sofa and covers his eyes with his forearm, groaning softly. 

"I called Till." Paul says gently, which is immediately highly suspicious and makes Richard move his arm to squint at him. "The way you two can make mountains out of mole hills is truly staggering." Ah, that's the much more familiar ground of Paul complaining at him. "Did you really think he could just uproot his entire life to come here with you? It takes him three to five business days to be able to go to a band practise."

"Shut up." Richard grumbles defensively. "I know that." He knows that, and he did all of this anyway. What sort of partner was he? The nasty little voice calls him selfish and he shakes his head to try and make it go away.

"I'm not telling you how to live your life or anything." Paul says, ruffling Richard's hair annoyingly. "I'm just suggesting you might want to slow down a bit before you scare him off completely."

Richard's stomach lurches at that and he must give Paul the most heartbroken expression because he actually makes a distressed noise and pulls him into a slightly awkward cuddle. "I didn't mean scare him off from you, I meant scare him off from the whole band thing. Wild animals couldn't drag him away from you."

"Really?" Richard sniffs. Flake appears then and shoves a mug of something hot and sweet smelling into his hands, he sits up slightly but doesn't move away from Paul, soaking up the comfort like a sponge. 

"Mm he likes you for some reason, and you're good for him." Paul tells him with a gentle elbow in his side. "And if you ever tell anyone I said or did any of this I'll strangle you with a guitar string." 

That gets a laugh out of Richard and they grin at each other over their cups. "Thanks, Paul, who knew you could be such a good friend." 

"Such high praise, I am flattered." Paul smirks back at him. 

Flake prods Richard in the leg with an outstretched foot and clears his throat pointedly.

"And you too." Richard hurries to say. "S'nice being friends with my boyfriend's weirdly close friends." 

"We're not weirdly close." Paul argues. "He's just the best at hugs."

Richard rolls his eyes, although he regrets it a little when it makes him feel sick. He waits for the feeling to pass, taking small sips of his drink whilst glaring at Paul who has an impish grin on his face. Thankfully he's saved from having to respond by Flake throwing a spoon at Paul.

"I'm right here you know." He grouches. Paul noisily blows him a kiss and Richard sincerely hopes that he and Till are not this embarrassing. He settles against Paul's side, listening to them bicker and flirt amongst themselves, it's soothing and he finds himself not feeling quite so lost anymore, at least for a little while. 

-

Till knocks on the door and waits awkwardly outside Paul and Flake's place, suddenly worried that this is a bad idea and he won't be welcome. But then he reasons that his house has been broken into enough times to warrant him showing up unannounced at least once in the course of this friendship. 

It takes a while but eventually Flake comes to the door, peering questioningly at whoever could possibly be here this late. When recognition lights up his expression he throws the door open and exclaims. "Thank God you're here. I can't stand them anymore."

Till barely has time to ask what he's on about before he's dragged through the door and shoved unceremoniously towards the centre of the flat, where Paul and Richard appear to be tangled on the sofa. Till tilts his head curiously and Flake comes to stand beside him with his arms folded. "I was trying to sober him up but then they spiked the tea when I wasn't looking and now they're like this." He gestures with one hand towards the giggling mass of limbs and blonde hair. 

Till can't help but smile at his annoyance. "Thank you for trying." He offers placatingly, patting Flake on the arm, pleased when he gets a small smile in response. He feels much less charitable when Flake tells him that they are his problem now and he's going to bed.

"Hey!" Till protests. "At least one of them belongs to you!" 

Flake flips him off and carries on walking, shutting a door and leaving Till very much to the wolves. He stands there, feeling a little surplus to requirements, clearly Richard is absolutely fine without him and this now feels very much like an overreaction on his part. Still, he's here now and he's absolutely not doing that journey again so soon, so he decides to have a little fun whilst he hasn't yet been noticed. 

"Didn't take you long to replace me." He muses, teasing and light, despite the deep, dark pull in his heart that tells him Richard could absolutely replace him so very easily. But then his shaggy blonde head lifts from Paul's shoulder and drunken eyes make contact with his own. Till smiles at him, growing wider when he focuses and squeaks Till's name in an oddly endearing way. 

He gets hurriedly if unsteadily to his feet, elbowing Paul in the stomach in the process. Till closes some of the distance between them and then Richard is throwing himself at Till, partly because he trips on his shoelace but that's okay. Till hugs him tightly and he smells like sweat and cigarettes and alcohol and _home._

"I haven't replaced you, I missed you." Richard mumbles with his arms tight around Till's neck. 

"It's only been a few days." Till replies quietly, even though he feels exactly the same way. 

"M'going to bed." Paul announces, interrupting them and standing up. "Sort yourselves out, you know where everything is." He wanders off with a wave and a yawn, leaving them alone. Till takes the opportunity to manoeuvre Richard backwards without letting go of him. 

"Come on, you need to sleep." 

Richard pouts at him. "But you're here." He paws at Till's waistband once he's dropped back down onto the sofa and Till slaps his hands away. 

"No fucking, they'll kill us." 

"You let me blow you last time." Richard whines, returning his hands to Till's waist. 

"Yes and we nearly got killed for it." Till reminds him, Flake is terrifying when he wants to be. 

"Ugh, fine." Richard kicks off his shoes and lies himself down in a huff, arms folded in front of his chest and bottom lip stuck out. Till resists the urge to tease him about it somehow whilst kicking his own boots off. By the time he's found something to cover them with, Richard is yawning and reaching for him sleepily. Till smiles, his heart melting, and slides behind him. He wraps one arm around Richard's waist and shoves the other under his head, letting him rest on Till's arm. It'll be numb by morning he imagines but for now it's fine.

"Till?" Richard asks in a quiet, sleepy voice. 

"Hmm?" Till lifts his head slightly. "What is it?"

A pause. "What are you doing here?" He sounds worried and Till frowns. 

"Paul said you were sad?" When he says it out loud it sounds entirely too clingy, and immediately he's thrown into a pit of doubt again. Richard is a big boy who can handle his own problems after all.

Just as he's about to apologise, Richard turns in his arms and smiles that smile at him where his nose scrunches and he bares his teeth in the most adorable way. "Till Lindemann, did you drive all the way here in the middle of the night just because I missed you?" 

Feeling his face heat up, Till nods mutely, his tongue refusing to cooperate with him. Richard is mere inches from him, smiling at him like he's the only thing on the entire planet that matters, Till's heart flutters in his chest. He offers a small, private smile back and rubs his nose against Richard's. 

"I don't deserve you." Richard sighs but it sounds happy and not in the slightest bit annoyed with him. He curls in close to Till's chest and trails wet kisses up his bared throat. Till tangles their legs together and lets his fingers stroke through Richard's hair in return and it becomes impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. This is where he's supposed to be, he realises; it isn't an epiphany, no fireworks and the earth doesn't shatter or even move slightly. He just knows overwhelmingly deep in his soul that he should be at Richard's side, and Richard should be at his. 

It doesn't seem possible, but he pulls Richard even closer and they fall asleep like that, just this side of uncomfortable and a little cramped but Till is far too wrapped up in the love of his life to care about small details like that. 

-

Richard wakes up slowly without opening his eyes, too warm and too stiff and far too hungover. He groans and tries to stretch out his painful muscles but finds that he's anchored in place by an arm around his waist. The unpleasant panic that floods his system nearly makes him throw up on the spot and he jolts out of the warm hold, falling unceremoniously onto the floor with a clatter. He opens one eye to inspect his surroundings, it seems to be Paul and Flake's place and surely they wouldn't let him do anything stupid would they? Swallowing around his nausea he sits up, terrified out of his skin and expecting the worst, only to find Till regarding him with amused and sleepy eyes. 

"Good morning." He says although it's really more of a rumble. 

"Till?" Richard rubs at his sore hip and frowns, trying to remember the night before. "What?"

Till chuckles warmly and props himself up on an elbow, he looks sleep rumpled and scruffy and absolutely gorgeous. "You really were drunk hm?" 

Oh right, he got drunk and then came here and got even more drunk with Paul, he vaguely remembers that part. Swallowing down the feeling in his stomach again, he peers at Till. "When did you get here?"

Till just rolls his eyes fondly and holds out the arm that he isn't leaning on. "Do you want to get up off the floor first?"

That seems sensible so Richard sluggishly clambers back up, his hip protesting all the while. Till keeps watching him with a soft fondness in his eyes that makes Richard's stomach feel full of butterflies, or perhaps it's the nausea again. He hopes not, throwing up on one's other half is not sexy in the slightest. He lays out on his back because it's the only way he can guarantee he won't do that, whilst Till remains on his side, still leaning on his elbow. With his other hand he draws gentle patterns across Richard's thigh. 

"So what are you doing here?" Richard asks again. Till grins at him. 

"You don't remember?"

That makes Richard nervous. "Remember what?" 

Till's hand comes up to stroke his cheek softly and Richard wills himself to remain in control. "You missed me, so I came to get you." Till explains then as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. Warmth floods Richard's entire body as he processes that statement, he's never been big on grand romantic gestures, they always seem fake somehow. But Till coming to get him just because he was drunk and maudlin seems incredibly grand and romantic to him. Tears prickle his eyes and he tries to blink them away before they can escape. "I don't deserve you." He mumbles.

Till kisses his nose and he pulls a face automatically, Till just smiles. "You said that last night too." 

"Well it's true." Richard grumbles, hiding his rapidly reddening face against Till's shirt. He feels him huff through his nose, still amused and fond before he kisses his sweaty hair. He doesn't think he's ever felt as loved in his life. 

"When do you need to go back?" He reluctantly asks, still not moving from his hiding place where he's only breathing Till's scent. 

"In a couple of days maybe? Why are you trying to get rid of me already?" 

Richard's hands clutch at Till as though he might suddenly disappear. "No! You know I want you here." He wishes he hadn't said that, he's almost definitely going to have ruined their cosy mood. Till is going to tense up and withdraw and he's going to feel disappointed again.

Although Till does take a deep steadying breath, it isn't to give his 'I can't' speech. Instead he pushes Richard backwards so he can see his face and says in a low voice. "I have things to sort out first and I don't know how long it will take, but I'll move here with you." He pauses then and looks unsure for the first time since they woke up. "If you still want that?" 

The tears are back and later Richard will blame it entirely on being hungover and not on the way Till's entire being lights up when Richard confirms that yes he does still want that, of course he does. He kisses him to hide the fact that he's on the verge of sobbing and hopes that his morning breath isn't too terrible. 

"Was being apart from me that bad?" He whispers some moments later when they part and he's had a chance to compose himself. 

Till smiles ruefully. "It was the worst." 

Richard grimaces. "And yet I'm the one who ended up crying on someone's sofa."

"You cried?" Till seems to melt at the idea.

"Probably, I was very drunk." He thinks about lying but there would be little point, Paul would tell on him if he tried. 

"Oh, _Scholle."_ Till purrs and kisses him very soundly, Richard gives into it with no hesitation. His fingers find their way under the sleeves of Till's tshirt and he clutches at his biceps for dear life. Till kisses him with such tenderness and love that he feels like he's floating, only brought back down to earth by a sharp reminder that they are not alone. 

He's hit on the arm by a rolled up newspaper and doesn't even need to look to know it's Flake. 

"I can provide breakfast, please do not consume each other, thank you."

Richard rolls over but Till stops him from going too far by wrapping an arm around his chest. "What have you got?" He's suddenly famished and eagerly approves Flake's breakfast suggestions, all of them, despite being offered a choice. Flake sighs deeply but doesn't argue otherwise. Richard grins at him as he goes to get started. 

There's movement behind him and he feels Till nuzzling at the back of his neck, licking at his bare skin and it tickles, making him shiver. He sits up before Richard can do anything about and clambers over him to wander off towards the bathroom. Richard watches him go with a dreamy sort of smile. 

"All sorted?" Flake asks, looking at him with an innocently questioning expression that speaks of Paul sending him out to fetch gossip. 

Richard sits up with great effort, stretching his arms in the air and groaning in pleasure as his joints pop and his muscles relax. He winks at Flake, and says cryptically, "maybe." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus mid week update because I was sick and had extra writing time? Sure why not.
> 
> Please accept this fluff and nonsense as an apology for the earlier sadness.


	8. The End and The Beginning

_Are you ready for your fall?  
We disintegrate in love.  
Down baby, let's drag it down  
Down to the ground  
I'm with you  
You can only be safe and sound  
When I'm around  
I got you._

_You Are So Beautiful - Emigrate_

_\---_

Months go by, in which they take turns staying the weekend at each other's place, it isn't ideal but it's fine. Richard accepts that it was somewhat unfair of him to just demand Till do whatever Richard wanted with little regard to the rest of his life. Still, the weekdays are ever so long without him and when Friday rolls around and he can see him again, he still gets butterflies as though being with Till isn't the longest and most stable relationship he's ever had. 

He likes to think that the distance has made them better, that they have learned to talk to each other instead of keeping it to themselves until it explodes. If they do fight, it's usually over and forgotten about very quickly. It's all very grown up and mature and Richard of two years ago would have run screaming from the cosy domesticity and stability. Distance has also done a number on their love life, but the sex on a Friday evening is always _incredible._

Every day he's beyond glad that he didn't treat Till as just another one night stand. Through him he's found his family, his friends, people he can rely on and people who rely on him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, an idea has begun to flicker into life. An idea of a band made up of his five favourite people and himself, but there's no rush, it'll come in time. 

He still hasn't got Till fully convinced about the merits of his voice, although he's made some headway. And so presently he stands in front of him with his hands on Till's cheeks, talking him down from a bout of anxiety. The others left then ages ago, so he can be tactile, grounding his flighty love with gentle but firm hands. 

"You can do this." He tells him. "It's your song, you should sing it." He pauses to smile encouragingly. "It's just me and you here, nobody else. Think of it like being at home with me, you sing for me all the time there." 

Till does try and smile back at him but he still looks nervous. "It's different when I've written the words." 

Richard rolls his eyes fondly, lightly kisses his pouting lips and then lets him go. "And I wrote the music for my extremely talented poet boyfriend to put words to, which is very intimidating, so we can worry about it together." 

He's blushing, which is adorable, but he picks up the microphone and gives Richard a tiny nod. He absolutely nails it on the first try and Richard knows that he knows it, from the pleased smile on his face and the way his hands tremble with the adrenaline. Richard's chest feels dangerously close to bursting from the love and the pride he feels. He doesn't leap on him, as much as he wants to, just puts his guitar down and asks in a calm voice.

"How was that?" 

Till grins broadly. "Wasn't bad." 

"Fuck off, you were amazing and you know you were." It's far too tempting to go to him and kiss the grin off his face, so Richard does, laughing into it when Till pulls him closer with an arm around his waist. He winds his arms around Till's neck and keeps kissing him, lazy and comfortable, until Till pulls away and leans their foreheads together. 

"Do you really think I should do this?"

Richard smiles. "Do you really think you should do this?" 

"Maybe?" He replies. "It's going to be harder in front of other people."

"I'm not just going to throw you to the wolves, we can start small, just friends." Richard strongly resists the excitement welling in his stomach in favour of more gentle encouragement. 

Till arches an eyebrow at him. "How is that not the wolves?" 

Richard blinks and begins to try and backtrack, but Till just laughs. "I'm just messing with you. I can do that, I think." He seems so relaxed and happy, carefree in the way that people their age should be, without the weight of the world bringing them down. Richard's shoulders ache almost reflexively and he rolls them out of habit. Till's hands come up to rest on them and he squeezes. 

"Need a smoke?" He asks, still smiling. Richard interprets that to mean that he needs a smoke after all that excitement, so he nods and wriggles out of his hold to fetch his pack from his jacket. 

They smoke in silence, side by side on the little stage, close enough to share body heat. Richard breathes out happily and watches Till blow smoke rings because he's a showy bastard when he wants to be and he loves the fact that Richard doesn't know how to do it. 

"Stop showing off." Richard knocks into him with his shoulder, even though he doesn't really want him to. He likes Till like this, even if it is only for Richard's benefit. When Till winks at him and gets to his feet, wandering away from him with all the confidence of a real rock star, Richard's mouth goes dry. He indulges himself and leans back on his elbows, staring unashamedly. He watches Till scoop up the guitar and his notebook reverently and bring them back to him, he grins when he hands the guitar over. 

"I've got a couple more scribbles that need music to go with them." He says. "If you feel like it?" He adds with a little shrug of his shoulders.

Richard can't think of anything he wants to do more, well he can, but he can save that for later, so he nods enthusiastically and checks his strings are still in tune. Till rifles through the pages of his notebook and points out what looks to Richard like a fully formed song, never mind a scribble. He tells Till this but he shrugs again. 

"Depends on the music, might need changing." He explains. Richard supposes that makes some kind of sense, and he settles himself cross legged opposite Till, writing songs with him. Till once said this was just Richard's dream, but it's never felt more like _their_ dream than it does right now. 

-

The air leaves Till's lungs in a huff as Richard pushes him roughly onto the bed. It creaks and it's too small but when they got back they found Richard's flat to be empty and so they elected to make the most of it. He sits up just enough to yank his shirt over his head whilst Richard does the same, then Richard shoves his legs apart so he can crawl up his body. They kiss frantically, open mouthed and biting as Richard pushes a hand down his pants to grope at him. Breaking the kiss, Till throws his head back and moans out loud. 

Richard grins down at him. "Get these off." He demands and Till rushes to comply, shimmying his way out of the rest of his clothes at breakneck speed. He barely has time to kick them onto the floor before Richard is back between his legs, spit slick fingers pushing into him. 

Till grunts and flinches, muscles protesting from the suddenness of it. 

"Sorry." Richard murmurs, kissing a wet and soothing trail up Till's stomach and chest, before planting a soft kiss on his lips. He starts to withdraw his hand but Till shakes his head. 

"It's okay, keep going." He urges, somewhat breathless. 

Richard regards him critically for a moment, and for a moment Till thinks he's going to stop. But he doesn't, he presses on, sinking his fingers further and leaning down to lap and bite at a nipple. Till groans and shudders under him, spreading his legs further and pulling him up by the hair to kiss him. Richard just grins and bites at Till's lip, pushing another finger in at the same time.

"Don't have time to drag out the foreplay." He purrs against Till's mouth, eagerly swallowing his moans. 

"Get on with it then." Till gasps out, his back arching and his head spinning. Fucking, or rather being fucked by, someone who knows him this well and can take him apart in mere minutes is something else entirely. He feels wrung out, wound up and desperate. "Come on." He whines, not at all ashamed of his desperation. 

Richard shushes him and trails his fingertips down Till's quivering belly, setting his nerves alight. He watches him spit on his hand and stroke his dick, and forces himself to relax when he feels him push inside. It's as overwhelming as it always is and he moans out Richard's name when he's all the way in. 

He fucks him with what feels like single minded determination, pushing him closer and closer to the edge of oblivion. This close, Till can see the beads of sweat gathering on his forehead, thinks he could count his eyelashes or the freckles peppering his chest and shoulders. He's so very beautiful and Till is so very lucky that he's his.

"I love you." He says and it's more of a soft exhale than anything else, but he had to say it, had to get it out. Richard lights up and stops moving, buried in him.

"I love you too." He tells him with a smile and then fucks him until he can barely remember his own name. 

When it's over and they collapse breathlessly in a heap, Richard takes his hand and squeezes, both of them too exhausted for anything more than that. Till squeezes back and shuts his eyes, his eyes burn and he doesn't want to cry but he's dangerously close to doing so. The gentle press of lips against his cheek does absolutely nothing to help the situation. 

"You're emotional today." Richard whispers, rolling over and curling close. Till feels him drape an arm and a leg over him, if he turns his head he could very likely kiss him. "Was I that good?" He teases and it's the perfect thing to say. Till snorts, which makes Richard laugh, which makes Till laugh and then they're a sweaty, sticky, giggling mess and it's all so fucking _perfect._

Until Schneider yells that he's glad they find it funny, that he and Oliver are traumatised. Till hadn't even heard them get back, and judging by the look on Richard's face, neither had he. 

"Oops." He snickers, sitting up and stretching his arms out. "I'll be back in a minute."

He gets up and pulls on some shorts, before leaving the room with a parting wink to Till. The door shuts again and Till stretches out himself, this bed is really far too small and he vaguely considers the idea that they should look for their own place with enough room for at least a decent sized bed. He can't cope with cramping muscles every time they fuck, or with flatmates apparently listening to their every move. 

He closes his eyes again, lulled by the faint mumble of conversation that sounds a little bit like Richard trying to apologise whilst also trying not to laugh. It makes him smile as he drifts off into a dreamless, sated sleep.

When he wakes again, Richard is back, leaning against the wall beside him and playing his guitar quietly, he's pulled a blanket over most of Till's body and over and his own legs. It's warm and peaceful enough that he could easily slip away again if he so wanted. Instead he shuffles closer and wraps an arm over Richard's thighs, resting his head against his hip.

Richard stops playing. "Hello there, sleeping beauty." He says quietly with an audible smile, letting go of his guitar to brush Till's hair out of his face. 

"How long was I asleep?" Till yawns and nuzzles at the warm skin.

"Not long I don't think." He puts the guitar down and shuffles down the bed until he's lying side by side with Till. "You have to go soon, don't you?" 

Oh. Yeah. There is that. Till sighs and nods.

"Not yet though." He adds and opens his arms for Richard to slide into. "You've got me for a while longer yet."

-

Driving to Till's is usually an ordeal on it's own, but driving to Till's when coming down with a cold, in a borrowed car (he couldn't face the train) and with a box of stolen contraband, it's even worse. It would feel very wild west if it wasn't for the fact that he needs to sneeze every ten minutes and the contraband is just food he couldn't afford but took anyway. He feels terrible and Till is definitely going to shout at him for driving, but then hopefully he'll forgive him and give him blankets and soup and cuddles. 

He's even wearing Till's sweater, the one he gave him that very first weekend they spent together. It's still warm and soft and faintly spicy, much like it's previous owner. Richard only wears it when he's sad or sick or just misses him too much. The distance is beginning to grate and he really wishes Till would hurry up with the moving before he goes mad from all the waiting he's doing; like some young bride whose husband has gone off to war. He absolutely refuses to admit to himself just how much window gazing he's done over the last few months whenever he's been waiting for Till to turn up.

Still absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that, as Paul likes to tell him all the time, though if Richard hears that from one more person he also refuses to be held responsible for his actions. 

He gets there just as it's starting to go dark and finds Till standing listlessly just outside the door. Richard initially thinks that he's been waiting for him and opens his mouth to say something teasing but then he catches the look on Till's face, drops his things and draws him into a hug. Till clings to him without saying a word, burying his face in Richard's shoulder. 

After a couple of minutes, it occurs to Richard that he's been crying, and his heart skips unpleasantly. "Till? What's wrong?" He asks softly, a hint of pleading because he desperately needs to know if he can fix it, or help if he can't. Till isn't much of a talker though when it comes to his emotions so he straightens up and wipes at his face with a mumbled apology. Richard would call him an idiot if he didn't look so heartbroken. 

Gathering his things, he follows Till inside and gets the strangest sense that something is missing. It's only when he passes by the smaller bedroom that he figures it out, how could he have forgotten? Till just shrugs when he turns to look at him, arms folded across his front as though hugging himself.

"It's been very quiet." Till says looking at the ground.

"Oh, Till. I'm sorry." Richard tells him, feeling incredibly guilty. He can't help but feel that this is his fault, because it absolutely is his fault. He's torn Till's family apart for his own selfish gains and if he felt terrible travelling here, that was nothing compared to how he feels now. "Why didn't you tell me? I could have come earlier."

"It's not forever, don't worry, until we find somewhere with space." Till mumbles, trying to smile at him, and scrubbing at his face again. He frowns at Richard as though seeing him properly for the first time. "Did you drive here like that?" 

Richard avoids his eyes, not really wanting the scrutiny. "Like what?" 

Till moves in front of him and holds a hand to his forehead. "You're sick." 

"No I'm not." Richard argues immediately.

Till gives him a look. "You're burning up, you're all pale and you're wearing this." He plucks at the sleeve of the sweater. "The last time you wore this you were sick so I assume there's a connection." 

Richard thinks about protesting further, Till obviously has bigger things to worry about right now and he should be the one looking after him and making him feel better and… he sneezes. Till sighs and hugs him again. 

"Bed." He says in that authoritative fatherly way that nobody can ever argue with unless you want to really upset him, and that's the last thing Richard wants so he smiles ruefully and does as he's told. 

In the end he gets his blankets, his soup and his boyfriend who even drags his record player next to the bed and dumps his entire record collection into Richard's lap so he can play whatever he wants. He skips the punk because although Till claims to get it, it's not really his thing, Richard's sure he only has them for his benefit anyway. Instead he puts on one of Till's favourites.

Till sits up against the headboard and drags him between his legs, Richard's back to his chest and rests his hands on Richard's stomach underneath the sweater that he's refused to take off. "You could have put it on if you want, that's why I gave you the choice." He says close to Richard's ear, nudging a bright green sleeve with his foot. 

"Maybe later." Richard murmurs, leaning back into his warmth. "You like Floyd." He continues before tilting his head up and nosing at the underside of Till's jaw. "I'm sorry." It feels incredibly inadequate but he can't stop himself from saying it.

Till hums and kisses the side of his head. "If I don't fuck it up, I can give her everything she'll ever want." He says simply and Richard has to smile a little at that. 

"If we don't fuck it up." He corrects gently and Till squeezes him in return. "You and me."

"Alright, if we don't fuck it up." He kisses Richard's shoulder, then trails his tongue up the side of Richard's neck to his ear, where he nibbles delicately. Richard shivers in his arms, lifting his own hand up and behind him to ruffle Till's hair. 

"We won't fuck it up." He promises just as a coughing fit wracks through his body, ruining what he thought was a very nice, romantic mood. Till murmurs to him sweetly and sympathetically and rubs his back until it subsides. 

"Are you alright?" Till asks him when he flops back against his chest, his throat burning and his eyes stinging. Till's fingers are back under the sweater, stroking soothing patterns up his sides and across his chest and belly. He could sleep, lulled by Till's infinite care and warmth and the soft strains of the music and the way he's lightly caressing his skin. 

"Sleep if you want, I'll still be here." Till says as though he can read his mind. 

"I'm okay." Richard insists and then yawns anyway. 

Till chuckles for the first time since he got here. "Of course you are." He shifts them both until Richard is more curled against him, and starts running his fingers through his hair. It's all Richard can do not to purr under his touch.

"Sleep." Till says again and Richard doesn't fight him on it this time. 

When he comes to some time later, he finds that Till has fallen asleep too, snoring softly and drooling a little. It's terribly attractive. Richard's heart swells with affection anyway. 

The record finished ages ago, so he slips out of Till's arms and decides to wake him up with the noisiest record Till owns, laughing croakily when he swears viciously at him. He's so amused he doesn't notice Till lunging for him until it's too late and he finds himself pinned to the bed surrounded by cardboard sleeves. Till grins down at him, devilish and stunning, showing his pointy teeth and laughter lines before moving further down Richard's body meaningfully. Richard sighs happily, he can think of worse places to be.

-

Till squares his shoulders as he knocks on the door, fighting off any lingering feelings of doubt. This is not a bad idea, he tells himself, turning up out of the blue to surprise your boyfriend is a totally normal thing that couples do. In fact he's already successfully done it himself so there's nothing to worry about. And even if it isn't, this is _Richard_ for heaven's sake, he isn't going to turn him away. Not after his joyful if slightly tearful reaction to the middle of the night stunt. He suspects he might get yelled at for lying to him and blowing him off with flimsy excuses as to why they couldn't see each other this weekend, but it was necessary to give himself a bit of time.

The door swings open whilst he's fretting, and he's greeted by Oliver who regards him kindly, if also a little surprised to see him.

"Richard, Till's here!" He's bright and welcoming all the same. "He said you weren't coming, changed your mind?" 

Before Till can return the greeting and explain why he's there, a voice from within the flat yells his name excitedly. A blonde blur then shoves Oliver out of the way and Till suddenly finds himself with both arms full of Richard. He staggers backwards a couple of steps before he has the presence of mind to wrap his arms around Richard and hug him back just as tightly. 

Once he's squeezed what feels like all the breath from him, Richard pulls back and beams at him, all teeth and sparkling eyes. "Not that I'm complaining, but why did you tell me you weren't coming?" He pauses to scrutinise Till's face, takes in the fact that he's got a fair amount of stuff with him. "Wait, Till, is this it? Are you here for good now?"

Till swallows. "Yep." He tries to sound confident but his voice cracks annoyingly on that one syllable. In truth, Till still isn't completely sure about this. Moving to the city to pursue something so trivial as music, it all seems so alien and a little selfish to him. But almost everyone in his life back home had been surprisingly encouraging which had helped somewhat. And Richard brings out the side of him that does want more, that does want this. And besides all that, he just wants to be wherever Richard is. 

"Are you sure?" Richard asks him with kindness in his eyes.

"Yes, I'm sure." Till says, far more determined than he's ever been. He's barely got the words out when Richard kisses him fiercely right there in the hallway. His hands tight in Till's hair feel like home, as does the taste of his mouth and the sturdiness of his body wrapped in Till's arms. 

A cough from the doorway breaks them apart, both Richard's flatmates are giving them very knowing, smug looks. Till forgot about the audience and sort of wishes he had something to throw at them. 

"Do you want to come in, or are you going to just fuck in the hallway? If so I'm shutting the door, it's freezing." Schneider says, very matter of factly. Richard turns to glare at him but even Till can see that there's no heat in it whatsoever. He takes hold of Till's hand and drags him in through the door. "Fine, we'll fuck inside, is that better? I thought it was traumatic for you but if that's what you want."

Till feels himself blush as Schneider grumbles in protest and kicks the door shut behind them. Richard just laughs and pulls Till into his tiny bedroom, still barely big enough for a single bed and his new guitar stand. He pushes Till noisily against the door, forcing it closed with a bang, and kisses him again. Till lets out an exaggerated moan and makes Richard laugh delightedly against his mouth. 

Someone kicks at the other side of the door and yells at them to keep it down if they really have to fuck. Richard grins at him wickedly and pushes his hands under Till's shirt, nails raking at his skin. Till whines loudly for real this time at the sharp pain of it, his dick paying rapt attention and his head spinning.

"I'm mad at you for lying to me." Richard growls, "but I want you." Apparently he's not feeling all that charitable towards his flatmates. Till feels like he's burning up, he clutches at Richard's hips trying to drag him even closer. Richard presses his hand firmly against Till's straining erection and gazes at him questioningly.

"Please." Till begs. His voice sounds wrecked already even to his own ears, he barely registers the sound of swearing and of the front door opening and slamming shut again. Richard grins and pulls him away from the door.

"Yes, my love." He pushes him down on the bed and climbs on top of him, straddling his thighs and grinding down with his hands firm on Till's chest. "Anything you want, I'll do anything for you."

Till swallows at that and looks up at him, his bright eyes burning with a dozen emotions as they meet Till's gaze. He could get lost under the weight of that look. He smiles though, gives him his best bedroom eyes and rocks his hips upwards, almost unseating him. 

"If you want me, you can have me." He purrs. "We've got time all the time in the world for everything else."

~~~~~~

Thank you for reading my self indulgent nonsense, I love and appreciate all of you.

If you like baby Till and Richard fics (if you don't, like no offense but why are you here?) You should go and read lovely Struwwel's [Lionheart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25636678/chapters/62234293) because it is absolutely amazing. 

Lastly my tumblr is kitthefox, if you would like to say hello :) 


End file.
